By Land or By Sea (Working Title)
by AlyssaPierceArrow
Summary: Charlotte Cornelia Adams has left her brothers and her native Virginia for Setauket, New York, to embrace the protection of her aunt Catharine. An ardent (if closeted) patriot, she'll soon prove useful to her cousin Abraham and the rest of the Culper Spy Ring. And she will soon prove invaluable to Captain Benjamin Tallmagde, in particular, for different reasons altogether.
1. Chapter 1

Charlotte shifted uncomfortably in her whalebone stays, jostled by the movements of her efficient, if not entirely comfortable, Berlin carriage. Certainly, the accoutrements inside: silk cushions, down padded seats, and ample room to stretch her legs, were more than adequate, but like most other things in her life, she found it like she found her stays: confining. Her off white, flowered robe d'anglaise, wrinkled, no doubt, in the five hours they'd traveled since breakfast, was pulled, along with her petticoats, up to her calves, her stocking feet free for now of the Louis heels she'd cast to the floor as she propped her ankles up on the opposite bench beside Sukey. She fidgeted her toes inside her thin white silk stockings, watching them wriggle beneath the fabric. She stared at the book in her lap, the fifth she'd read along this particular journey, too anxious to open its pages.

Then she exhaled, audibly. She squished her right pannier slightly when she shifted to the right and tilted her head to look out the window at the passing fields and trees, longing to be sat on a blanket on or beneath any one of them, instead of stuck in what she'd taken to calling "that cursed box," in the two weeks they'd been traveling to Long Island from Virginia.

Behind them, at a slower pace, came a second carriage, carrying most of her trunks, manned by Phillip and attended by Sadie. Charlotte could see them occasionally when she looked out the window, several hundred yards behind. She pulled absentmindedly at one of the thick, spiral accent curls that wasn't pinned to the modest, afternoon updo at the back of her head, one of a few Sukey had left loose for decoration. She let go and it sprung back into place. When she reached for it again, Sukey leaned across for her hand and took it gently, pulling it away from her head as a direction to stop, placing it in her lap.

She and Sukey had been together so long they could communicate over several long hours with one another without so much as a word spoken.

Charlotte was only thankful that they were being conveyed to a safe place. It had been her suggestion to stay with her great aunt Catharine Woodhull in Setauket, a woman who lived alone with a bevy of servants but frequently enjoyed the company of social acquaintances, none a more frequent companion than her nephew Richard. Thankfully, this particular aunt was also adept at games of appearance and neutrality, though she entertained and allowed for quiet appreciation of patriot sympathies, something Charlotte appreciated greatly. Charlotte's brothers, known patriots all four, had mostly departed with the Virginia Continental Army, the eldest staying behind to manage their modest plantation, where they grew tobacco and hemp. Charlotte, yet unmarried at age twenty-two, had been called to her brother's study two months before on the unhappy errand of discussing all manner of negative implications to come, and her relative safety. While her brothers admired and cultivated their younger sister's patriotic sensibilities, they understood the value of passing unnoticed by regulars, especially for the fairer sex. William, now head of their family since the death of their father and mother, had told her that sometimes the best hiding place is in plain sight, and if she could hold her temper, and manage to keep her stinging wit to herself, she could pass the conflict in relative safety with her honor in tact. Known loyalist Richard Woodhull was said to hold a respected place as magistrate in Setauket, and his kindly great aunt, known as a friendly and well respected, if direct, dowager, would be Charlotte's cover. Charlotte had passed the weeks waiting for the reply that would seal her new arrangement in a tense, angry stupor. Wanting terribly to act out childish impulses that would have her raging against her brother for sending her away, his concern both for her welfare and for the fate of the colonies, coupled with the heavy hearted way he seemed now to approach all of his tasks, and the notion that she may not see him for a terribly long time, stayed her fury. It did nothing for her frustration.

Now, at the end of her journey, she wished she had perhaps protested further. They were approaching Setauket, having been ferried over from New Jersey without much fuss after their papers had been passed, and the increase in lobster backs as they traveled north had served to increase her anxiety significantly. Charlotte turned towards Sukey, who gave her a sympathetic smile, as she shifted Charlotte's bergere hat, resting flat on her lap.

She turned her thoughts to her cousin Abraham, who she hadn't seen in a great many years, and of his friends Anna and Caleb, of whom she'd always been fond. At least she'd have companions, or if not companions, acquaintances of her own age. She wondered how much Setauket had changed since she had last been to visit, and thought there was no need to speculate, as she'd soon find out.

Sukey cast glances in Charlotte's direction, as her mistress looked pitifully out the window in her continual presentation of her vexed state, and shook her head. She was often startled, looking at Charlotte, by how stunningly beautiful the girl was. Round and pale of face, with dark brown eyes, and hair that could be called both strawberry blonde and red and brown all at once, in different mingling colors, she had a natural, fresh look to her, one almost universally admired. But she could be so stubborn, and terribly sour. Thakfully, Sukey was certain, she would soon return to her generally optimistic and mischevious, slightly dark humored countenance. She preferred her mistress snarky and rife with wit, always, to the sulking child who sometimes appeared when Charlotte was uncomfortable confronting her grief and resentment of elements outside her control.

When Sukey was alerted by the change in scenery (and in the texture of the ground, as communicated by the carriage) that they had turned off onto the private way that lead to the house, she helped Charlotte into her shoes and placed her flat hat onto her head, tying the ribbons carefully behind and underneath her updo. As she was being attended to, Charlotte had the opportunity to raise her eyes out the window, to view the ocean, and their close proximity to Long Island sound, delighted that she would, at least, be living at the water's very edge. Charlotte smoothed her dress to the best of her ability, and, despite the cramped confines of the carriage, was implored by Sukey to turn around in several directions to be sure that her garments and adornments were in place. When at last the carriage came to a stop the circular driveway of the stone estate, she waited in the carriage as her driver took down her footplate so she could step down. Lifting herself up out of her seat, she turned towards the carriage door as it was opened for her. Stepping down, she caught the hand that was offered to her, and smiled up at her aunt's afternoon visitor, Richard Woodhull.

Charlotte smiled, stepping down onto the ground. "Hello, Uncle."


	2. Chapter 2

What woke Charlotte was the light. Then the muted clank-clank-clank of the curtain rod as Sukey used the drapery pull to open her curtains. Charlotte sat up and yawned, lifting her arms over her head in a grand gesture meant to rouse herself to meet the morning. Instead she flopped her hands down beside her and sighed, chewing the inside of her cheek as she often did.

"Gon' be warm today. Windy, though." Sukey said, opening the third set of drapes, the high ceilinged room and its white walls flooding with more morning light.

The enormous fireplace across from her, ornate and freshly cleaned, remained free of ash and coal. Nor for long, Charlotte thought, though it had been warm the night before, and would be today it seemed as well. Gracious great aunt Catharine had fed her well and after their short visit with Uncle Richard the afternoon before, and then sent her straight up to bed to refresh and recover from her long journey. Tonight, however, she'd be able to see not only her cousin Abraham and his father, but Abraham's wife and child, who she had never had occasion to meet.

Charlotte crawled to the end of her four poster bed, the curtains left hanging open and flush against the floor, and peeked around the canopy posts to see if she was missing someone. She scrunched up her mouth. "Where's Sadie?" she asked Sukey.

"Unpacking your things. Most need hanging and airing, some need laundering." Charlotte noticed, however, that a complete day dress, flanked by all accompanying articles which could possibly be necessitated upon dressing her, was laid out as they always were, as though the individual wearing them had laid down and simply disappeared, leaving nothing behind but a set of confining garments. The dress was a lovely blend of silk, dyed a light apricot color. Sukey slid the last set of curtains back and looked at her charge.

Sensing her cue, Charlotte slid from underneath the mass of covers under which she'd been buried, walking behind a wood and silk dressing screen in a far corner of the rug that dominated the center of the room. Unceremoniously, she pulled her nightgown off only to be daubed with perfume and traded for a fresh chemise by Sukey. She picked up her stockings and sat at the small white, mirrored vanity to the right of her fireplace. While she ran them up her legs and tied them above her knee with ribbons Sukey had selected (because she knew Charlotte wouldn't bother to match them), Sukey untied the rags she'd used to set Charlotte's hair after her bath the night before, shaking the tangled silky corkscrews out of Charlotte's head gently with her fingers.

"All right," Sukey said, with a gentle prodding of Charlotte's back. Charlotte sighed and stood, bending forward so Sukey could put her first petticoat on her and help her into her stays. She wondered, while Sukey dressed her, what her brothers were doing at that very moment. Teddy, Nathaniel and Edward, lately of the 12th Virginia, now so far away from her, and intentionally in danger, though she believed with all her heart in that for which they stood. And William, the eldest, who now stood alone at the farm, who had sacrificed her company at home because he believed it was going to save her life, and who Charlotte hated herself for resenting. In the end it had been Sadie who had convinced her to go, who had told her playing a role could keep her safe, and who urged her not to judge her brother too harshly.

Once she'd been laced in, Sukey approached with her panniers, one of a set of four she wore in varying shapes and sizes dependent upon what was to be layered on top of it. They were her smallest ones, but Charlotte turned her head sideways and gave Sukey such a pathetic look that the older girl sighed, dropped the panniers, and snatched up the hem of her robe anglaise, looking directly at Charlotte, holding her attention with her deep brown eyes.

"If you get one smudge of dirt on this hem,"

Charlotte, excited at the thought of being unencumbered, didn't bother to listen to the rest and instead wiggled in place and wriggled herself into her own second petticoat, made to match the rest of her dress and the stomacher that went with it. The rusting of fabric over her head and the bright peach tint that surrounded her as she stuck her head through the bottom of the bell shaped fabric made Charlotte wish she could remain underneath it and hide for a bit longer, but she rustled it down over herself and fastened one side of her waist while Sukey fastened the other and brought the silk down around her legs, un-tucking it where it had become entangled in the petticoats. Sukey held her arms open with the top robe of her dress in her hands, behind Charlotte, who dutifully put both of her arms through each hole. Sukey fastened her stomacher in the center while Charlotte held the robe closed, securing both sides to the center garment. Then she made sure the pleats fell the way they were supposed to. Charlotte turned and looked over in the mirror, unused to one at this height and angle, poking her more than ample chest out and making a face at Sukey "I look like I belong at the prow of a ship."

Sukey chuckled. "Mmmhmm. That's why you're wearing a fichu." Sukey came around and draped the kerchief style accessory over Charlotte's shoulders, bringing the tails across her chest, crossing one over another before tying it in a bow at her back.

"Whatchu want for breakfast?" Sukey asked, checking her over once more.

"Oh, please don't trouble with any breakfast. I want to see the water." Charlotte said, staying very still.

Sukey rolled her eyes "I told you if you get o-"

"One smudge of dirt on this hem, I know." Charlotte said. She smiled at Sukey in the mirror. "I won't."

"All right," Sukey said, trying not to smile back. "Let me fix your hair."

Once Charlotte had allowed Sukey to secure her hair in a pile high on her head, and a bergere hat on top of that pile, pinned carefully in place and tied under her hair the back of her neck, she was allowed to leave, and she burst out the back door of her aunt's house with such a flourish that she didn't expect not to be shouted after. Dashing down the steps quickly in her walking slippers, she turned left to walk through the shadow cast by the house as she made her way towards Long Island Sound. The house was surrounded on three sides by water, a small jetty accessible only by the short drive from the road that brought one directly to the coast. At the front of the house, a half circle driveway gave way to the rest of the rolling hill on which the home sat, and the ocean, though visible from the top of the great hill that held the house, had to be accessed by going down a slightly steep embankment where a little dock stood at the edge of the water.

Free of the burden of wearing a dress heavy with panniers, Charlotte picked up the corner of her dress with her free hand and ran energetically towards the water, stopping only when her stays mandated it so that she could breathe. A massive oak tree stood not fifty yards from the dock, and as she caught her breath she looked up at it, she reminded herself to ask her aunt, and Phillip, whose help she would need, if they could put up a swing. Difficult enough as it was for her to look around at the land surrounding her and consider it her new, if temporary home, she could not ignore the beauty and quiet peacefulness that characterized her aunt's property. And from this dock, come summer, perhaps she'd be able to indulge her secret pastime: swimming. Sadie and Sukey knew she continued to swim long after it was deemed appropriate for a young girl to continue doing so. They sewed her strong chemises she could swim in, confident that if she co-operated and told them every time she planned to swim, at least they could watch over her while she was in the pond, or the river and she'd be fine. Charlotte hoped they'd be as open to allowing her to swim in the sound. But for now, she'd enjoy the trees, and the sun, and the pleasant breezes off the ocean. She gingerly placed herself down onto the blanket Sukey had given her for just this purpose, and sat in the shade of the tree, looking out on the water. She tipped her head up to the sky, sunlight catching on her face in places covered neither by leaves nor by the brim of her hat, and she closed her eyes. She was there with her book and her thoughts until Sukey called to her from the top of the hill, shading her eyes as she made her way down the embankment and scanned back and forth for her charge. Wanting not to disappoint, especially since Sukey had been so nice to her that morning, she leapt up quickly and gathered her things, meeting her. Together the two walked side by side in through the back prep kitchen, where dinner was already being prepared, up to Charlotte's bedroom to change her clothes once more.


	3. Chapter 3

Abraham Woodhull paced impatiently in his kitchen, waiting for his father to arrive. Mary spoke quietly to Sprout who was seated on their kitchen table. They were dressed completely in their traveling cloaks, and they would carry a blanket with them to keep Mary and Sprout warm in the back of the carriage. Becoming slightly agitated, Abraham moved to the window and pulled the curtain back, glancing off into the distance to see if he could make out a carriage on the approach. He had stifled the fire in the hearth twenty minutes before in anticipation of his father's arrival, and their subsequent departure. Thankfully, the nights had not grown cold enough to necessitate a constant fire, and they remained comfortable in their waiting. Despite that fact, Abe was irritated by the draft he felt coming into the house, vexed as only situations involving his father could vex him.

At least aunt Catharine would be their host this evening. She had a habit of protecting her young nieces and nephews, being as she was without children of her own to protect, and free to assign her attentions to other subjects. She had stood between Abe and his father's chastisement on more occasions than he'd care to admit to himself, or care to remember, and suspected that there were plenty of occasions on which she had done so which he would never learn about. Aunt Catharine could certainly be a powerful ally. Charlotte was fortunate. Charlotte was her favorite. Since the death of Charlotte's grandmother, aunt Catharine's only sister Cornelia, for whom Charlotte's middle name was chosen, aunt Catharine had functioned as surrogate grandmother to the little girl now old enough to be considered a woman. For that reason, it had not surprised Abraham in the least when his father told him that Charlotte was coming to Setauket to stay.

He had heard his father's stern admonishments of her elder brothers when it was learned that three of them had joined up with the 12thVirginia, leaving their eldest to run their four thousand acre farm by himself. Charlotte's subsequent departure had given Richard Woodhull the impression that his dear, faultless niece had "escaped" the belly of traitorous rebellion, choosing instead to seek repose in a colony protected by its proximity to the crown's headquarters in the colonies. Abraham thought it to Charlotte's credit that his father could still go on believing such a thing. He hoped, and had no reason not to expect she could make everyone else believe it as well. But he himself had occasion to speak candidly, and privately, with his cousin and knew her to be a staunch patriot, long of the opinion that the colonies were capable of, and entitled to, create and run their own government. During her visit four years ago, they had the opportunity to exchange views on such matters, and Abraham doubted very much that anyone as stalwart of belief as Charlotte had been could have changed her opinion very much since then. He agreed with his father on one subject: the probable genesis of her sentiments. Before three of them departed for the 12th Virginia, two of her brothers had attended New College in Boston, the cradle of Patriotism in the colonies. It was there her father had been born, and for that place they departed, forgoing the opportunity to continue in their eldest brother's footsteps at the College of William and Mary in Virginia. He was certain they had brought back with them sentiments which they shared with their little sister. Now, however, she was alone, much the way Abraham felt, himself, with all his allies and those who held his secrets disconnected from him. He supposed, however, that being attended by Sukey and Sadie certainly helped. He doubted there was anyone on earth who knew him as well as Sukey and Sadie knew Charlotte. The rattling sound of the carriage wheels outside their home roused Abe from his pensive musing, and he indicated to Mary and Sprout that they should meet his father outside.

Mary had asked him several times to describe Charlotte. "Polished, bright, elegant, and witty" were the words he had used. Under his breath he had added, "Stubborn, willful, cunning, and shrewd." He didn't share her brother Edward's frequently repeated, cheeky admonishment "the kind only the right husband will tame." Frustrated, however, by the inadequacy of his description, he later told Mary "she's a lot like Aunt Catharine," which his wife seemed to accept. Now, traveling beside his father in their carriage, he listened to the pleasant chatter of his wife and his father, checking back every so often to be sure that Mary and Sprout were comfortable. The last time he had seen Aunt Catharine he had brought her some cabbage, which she purchased, despite, Abraham thought suspiciously, the fact that it was known that she herself did not prefer cabbage, and the fact that there seemed to be no one for her to entertain or feed them to. At that time, she had frankly told him she would welcome the opportunity to speak with him candidly if ever he wished. He had stood in her dining room as she counted out currency, a floodgate between his pursed lips which he hadn't dared to open. Instead he had smiled and nodded and accepted the money, saying nothing. But she reminded him of her invitation to speak as she walked him to her front door, his horse and wagon waiting in her driveway. He wondered how long he would last before the war found him pounding on her door asking questions instead of peddling cabbage. He sat quietly in the carriage, passing by homes with glowing lights and quiet, dark, pastoral fields. Soon they reached the turnoff, heading into the dark cavern of tremendous oak trees lining the drive up to the house.

Charlotte sat in the living room in one of the two high backed armchairs beside the hearth, opposite her great aunt, trying not to shift too much in her dress, a pretty evening gown in the robe anglaise style, yards upon yards of dark turquoise silk, nearly blue in it's depth, accompanied by a lovely, accented stomacher, ruffled accent silks bordering her three quarter sleeves, and trimming her entire neckline of her top robe, running up one side and down the other, from floor to floor. Small pink silk roses decorated the stomacher, and added accent to her sleeves and other parts of the dress. Her hair was piled high on her head, half in rolled curls puffed up to create volume, the other half allowed to drape across her shoulders in luxuriantly tumbling curls. When the carriage rolled up, she and Catharine rose and exited to their front porch, waiting respectfully at the top of the stairs for their guests to shuffle out. Catharine's footman came quickly to Richard's aid, taking control of the horse and reins, as Abe helped Mary and Sprout from the carriage. Aunt Catharine was greeted by those who knew her, and Mary presented to Charlotte, who descended the stairs gracefully in a plume of fabric and embraced her cousin's wife gently, careful of Sprout who sat in her arms looking puzzled. She was introduced to the little boy, who she fussed over the required amount, and as Mary made her way inside Charlotte turned to Abe and smiled the mischievous grin that only someone sharing a secret with another might share. "Hello, Abraham."

Abe smiled a shy smile in return, nodding. "Charlotte." A secret expression of mutual self-containment passed between the two, and was gone before Richard Woodhull came around to greet his niece and his hostess.

When dinner had nearly concluded, Abraham elected to take a walk on the grounds instead of entering into all out war with his father at Catharine's table. Promising to return in time for dessert, he excused himself in the midst of a discussion of seizing properties of known patriots, and strode through the hallway to the back entrance of the house, which he used to make his escape. Unencumbered by the vocal disagreements of another seated at the table, Richard continued to pontificate until Catharine could smell the brewing coffee and tea which signaled dessert's preparation, and turned quickly to Charlotte when Richard stopped speaking, staring directly at her and instructing her "Charlotte, go and fetch Abraham from his walk."

Only too happy to have been temporarily liberated, Charlotte took the same path Abraham had taken, ducking into the kitchen first to find Sukey and ask her for walking slippers to change into so she wouldn't have to wear her Louis heels. Standing, she lifted her feet blindly and allowed Sukey to change her shoes, something she couldn't do on her own in her substantial panniers. Then she hurried out the back door and down the steps, hoping to start at her new favorite place of repose, the enormous oak tree just up the hill from the dock. She saw the thin silhouette of a man standing beside it, and thanked God she'd saved time and found him early so they could speak briefly before they had to return. Though the swish-swish rustle-rustle of the fabric that encased her made enough noise on it's own, out of courtesy she called quietly to Abraham, unlikely to hear anything outside his own reverie, given his distraction. She didn't wish to frighten someone she suspected was already far more upset than he had presented himself to be. Abe turned his head and seemed to smile in the dark, shadowed light, turning in Charlotte's direction. He had been looking at the sound, she noted.

"Time for me to come in then, I take it?" Abe asked.

"We have time. I can claim I couldn't find you." Charlotte said. Abe nodded, relieved that she seemed to be the same girl he remembered, and she watched his shoulders as they seemed to drop a bit.

He leaned back against the tree, and she peered out on the sound as well. After a few moments of silence, she sighed, trying to shrug off all she was feeling and thinking.

"It's worse here," She said. "Than I imagined. These lobsterbacks, crawling on the land like mites. And seemingly no resistance! Everyone like schoolchildren, waiting to be whipped and punished."

Abe allowed himself to ask what he'd been wondering since it was announced she was arriving. "Why did you come?"

"William." Charlotte said. "Our numbers at home are much depleted. He wanted me out of harm's way, and he thinks I'm best hidden in plain sight."

"So you're still…" Abe began.

"Abraham, I've been a Patriot since I was eight years old. It's you I wonder about."

Abraham sat in the quiet, pregnant silence. What could he say? She knew Caleb and Anna from the visit she had made four years before. Ben had been gone at Yale, but she would know of him if Abe made mention.

"You play your part quite well," Abe said.

"I have to." Charlotte shrugged. She chalked her survival up not to her own skill, but to her attention to detail and consistency. "I will play whatever role I have to in order to ensure our freedom...and our survival." She was completely relieved to be able to share this with another person, alone and powerless as she felt in Setauket.

Abraham turned to her, and the look of intensity on his face suggested to Charlotte that he was about to unburden himself, though with much apprehension and hesitation. He had considered this moment, when she might make herself available to their cause, just as he had considered approaching Charlotte for help in a time of crisis. But he had not considered that it would happen so soon.

"If I share with you a secret, can you protect it and guard it with everything you're capable of?" Abraham asked, his face only inches from Charlotte's.

Charlotte grinned. "Of course. You've always enjoyed my confidence."

"Can you be observant, and write letters, messages, about what you've seen and what you hear?" He asked. The discussion of Charlotte and Catharine's forthcoming social engagements with key officers had not been lost on Abraham.

Charlotte nodded. "Of course. You know, William may have sent me away, but it was I who chose the place. An advantageous place."

Abraham nodded. "Tomorrow night, you must come here, to this tree. We'll meet on the dock."

"When?" She asked.

"Late." He replied. "Midnight."

Charlotte nodded. Turning back towards the house, Charlotte suggested they should probably return, and the two hustled across the grassy hill in the darkness, rebellious blood pumping through their veins, excitement and fear surging through their hearts.


	4. Chapter 4

Charlotte carefully lifted an enormous pastry to her mouth and bit, squeezing cream out of the puff, where it plopped, dangerously close to the edge, onto the plate she held under her chin. She looked up at Sukey from the comfort of the floor and the giant cushion on which she sat, raising her eyebrows as though to suggest "See? It fell on the plate." Then she looked down at her lap, where a heavy silk napkin was strategically spread, further indicating that her garments remained protected.

Sukey sighed, turning back to her embroidery, a beautiful pattern she had created by hand as she worked, an assortment of colorful flowers on a pair of pockets she had made for Charlotte. She looked up at the clock on the mantle again. Nearly 10:30. Another hour and a half to wait, but at least Charlotte would be on her way and then Sukey could retire. She wouldn't; she would wait for her charge until she returned from the dock, and this suspicious meeting with her shifty cousin. Abraham. Sukey wondered what was wrong with that boy. He always seemed ready to crawl out of his own skin. She hoped this meeting wouldn't spell trouble for Charlotte.

It was growing late, especially for someone who rose near dawn, and Sukey was tired. She appreciated the fact that Charlotte had already attempted to dismiss her several times, only to discover that Sukey would wait up in any case, so Charlotte invited Sukey to sit up with her, which she had. Charlotte was seated happily on a large circular cushion laid out on the rug, a book beside her, taking a brief break to enjoy leftover desserts. Sukey had allowed her to take off her top robe and stomacher off, to breathe a little in only her chemise, stays, and petticoats. Her topmost petticoat, displayed through the front opening of the robe, and made to match, lay beside it flat on her bed where it couldn't wrinkle. Charlotte had been at dinner with Great Aunt Catharine most of the evening, though by now Charlotte's hostess had long since retired until morning. Charlotte rose and went around to the little vanity where Sukey had placed one of her jewelry boxes. She searched around for her most prized necklace, slightly less ornate and decorative than some of the chokers and necklaces she possessed. It was her favorite, a tiny, delicate golden anchor, which she sometimes wore on a chain of fine gold, though most often on a thin ribbon chosen to match her dress. She fussed around through an open box on the top of her dresser, looking through the various cuttings of ribbon to find the one she was looking for. She found it. A thin, muted nautical blue silk ribbon which she threaded onto her anchor's tiny golden loop. She tied it carefully around her neck and shuffled through some of her trunks, still gradually being unpacked and organized, looking for some of her preferred personal effects. She found her treasured scarf, and wound it around her shoulders, standing in front of the mirror at her vanity, running her fingers over the embroidered shapes she had lovingly created with threads in the fabric. A gentle breeze blew through one of her open windows, and she shrugged the scarf off, folding it in half and placing it in front of her pillow on her bed for safe keeping. Then she returned to her cushion to finish her dessert.

At quarter to midnight, Charlotte, dressed fully in her silk gown patterned with flowers, and covered by a Monaco blue woolen capelet, made her way as quietly as possible out the door and down the hill towards the dock. From the top of the hill, at the corner of the back raised veranda, Sukey kept watch for Charlotte, listening so she could hear any potential sounds of distress or something gone awry.

Charlotte could feel the settling dew as it slowly dampened her hem and stockings. She slinked through the uneven grass in the darkness, the moon creating fascinating patterns on the hillside as it cast through the nearly naked tree branches. Despite the fact she had expectations of who she would meet, Charlotte was nervous. Had she not been by the sea, she likely would not have been as composed. She was soothed by the sound of the rolling of the waves and the sharp pleasantness in the salty breeze of the ocean. Turning back every few steps to cast her eyes towards the house, Charlotte made her way to the oak tree. From her high vantage point, she could see the dock, empty. Carefully, she picked her way down the steep embankment in the dark. Alone for the time being, she chose to sit herself carefully on top of one of the wooden posts holding the dock in place, conveniently high enough for her to gently lower herself onto the rounded top without tipping herself over into the water. A crashing sound, and the cracking of leaves and branches could be heard down the embankment, and she saw a thin figure making his way along the wooded part of the beach which had not been cleared.

Charlotte whispered "Abraham!" sharply, and he whistled in reply, picking his way over rocks and stones as he came up to the dock. He came to the place where the dock met the grass and the sand and climbed atop, nodding at Charlotte and walking down the dock to take a seat on the post opposite her.

She noticed Abraham fidgeting a bit with his hands as he waited, gazing skyward with a worried expression marring his face. Charlotte pressed gently against the left side of her capelet with her right hand, listening for the reassuring crackle of the parchment inside. Once she lifted her hand away, reassured, she noticed, looking up, the shape of a small rowboat coming across the sound. She glanced over at Abe, who was focused on the very same. He seemed not to be concerned, only reactive. As the small craft approached, the lapping of the water on the oars could be heard, and a soft whistling, carried over on the wind. Abe stood up, heading to the edge of the dock to cup his hands around his mouth and whistle in return. Charlotte stood back in the shadow of the trees hanging over the dock in the tiny inlet, waiting respectfully to be reintroduced. She fiddled with her hair self consciously, left down below her ears, the remaining portion still pinned to her head. Sukey had let her take most of the heavy bulk off her head. She heard the muffled voices of the two boys, Abe's quiet and cautious, Caleb's as boisterous as she remembered. Caleb climbed the ladder up to the surface of the dock, and the two approached Charlotte.

"Charlotte," Abe began. "I trust that you remember my friend, Caleb Brewster."

Charlotte smiled, stepping forward.

"Well, hello little troublemaker. I see you're lovely as ever," Caleb said.

Charlotte laughed. At the conclusion of her last visit to Setauket she had orchestrated a last goodbye meeting in the woods, a midnight rendezvous between herself, Anna, Caleb, and Abraham, where they drank stolen liquor and sat out under the stars talking of all manner of things before they had to sneak back. They had all nearly been caught, sneaking back to their respective homes in the hours near daylight. She'd been known as troublemaker ever since.

"Hello, Caleb," she said, grinning.

"So this is the new agent you've brought me, Woody?" Caleb asked.

Abraham nodded. "Show him your papers, if you would," he said to Charlotte.

Charlotte reached inside her capelet and removed her passes, handing them over to Caleb. He perused the sheets of heavy paper, and looked back up at her.

"These allow you passage anywhere in the colonies." He said. He nodded, satisfied if not a little impressed, then looked up at her.

"I remember you being sympathetic to the cause." He said. "I trust your sentiments haven't changed?"

"They have not. If anything, they have intensified. My eldest brother remains at home, but my three remaining elder brothers all serve with the 12th Virginia. My brother is Captain Theodore Adams." She hoped to illustrate with this detail that she while she was an exception as a relative of Abraham's who would be working against the crown, in her own immediate family she was very much in line with the beliefs of her relatives, and had come by her patriotism in an honest manner of cultivation.

"Charlotte will be dining with officers in the coming weeks, and I believe it was mentioned would be traveling to York City as well." Abraham mentioned.

Charlotte nodded. "Frequently, I imagine. Aunt Catharine likes the opera, and the theatre, and now that I'm here as a kind of companion, I will be attending events with her wherever they might occur. I also received a letter from a childhood friend who moved from Virginia to New Jersey, and had heard I was coming to live in Long Island. It was waiting for me here when I arrived, and I now have an open invitation to visit her whenever I like. So I could travel to New Jersey on urgent matters with relative plausibility." Charlotte had been happy to hear from her friend Martha White, who was staying with cousins as she would soon be marrying the son of a magistrate. "I believe she resides in a place called Morristown."

Caleb nodded, impressed.

Abe introduced a concern. "I'd like to avoid having Charlotte make contact too frequently, if it can be helped. She'll be safer, I think, and you, Caleb, if most of your communication can be dropped and not delivered in person."

Charlotte spoke up "but I would be quite willing to make contact if I felt it necessary to pass along key information."

Both boys stared at her for a moment, and then nodded.

Caleb ran his thumb and first two fingers along his beard, scratching a bit at his chin.

"Well, you know, Abe, I'm just the first test…but how would you intend to deliver any information that might be delivered?"

Abraham was about to explain that he and Charlotte had not had much occasion to discuss exactly how the intelligence would be dropped, when he realized his cousin was answering.

"I had opportunity to explore the grounds last afternoon. There's an old anchor in the little captain's cabin on the east side of the hill, an old ship's bell as well. They've been using it for storage. I'll hang the bell on the end of the dock if I'm leaving intelligence, I'll hang the anchor if I need to make contact. If I leave a letter, I will tuck it inside the deep hole in the oak tree, underneath bark and debris."

Both boys were staring at Charlotte again, and she pursed her lips, realizing she probably had spoken far too much.

Caleb nodded. "I'll take this to the handler," he said to Abraham.

He looked at Charlotte again. "I'm sure he'll be…." he paused, smiling devilishly at her "extremely pleased."

Caleb recalled Charlotte as a cute, plucky girl from her visit when they were younger, but she'd grown into a splendidly attractive and unconsciously graceful young creature, and he was already completely convinced that his best friend was going to trip over his own feet falling in love with her. He found the notion both refreshing and amusing.

"Well, I must be off then," Caleb said, turning to descend the ladder.

He waved to Charlotte, who called quietly "Goodbye, Caleb," and just as soon as he had arrived, he had pushed off, was rowing away, and was gone.

Charlotte and Abraham turned to one another and smiled.

Charlotte reached out and patted Abe on his arm. "You're doing a very noble thing," she said.

"I pray that I am," he said.

"You are," she replied.

Being without a sister, and alone now without Thomas, Charlotte could easily see herself adopting Abe as another brother. Abe turned and jerked his head up to the house.

"You'd better go before someone sees you," he said.

She nodded. "You as well."

Abraham fixed his tricorn hat on his head, nodding. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Charlotte whispered. She headed up the hill towards the house, holding her dress away from the damp grass as much as she could. Abe watched until he could no longer see her climbing the hill towards the estate, and stepped onto the beach, running along the beach before disappearing into the woods.

When finally Charlotte was tucked safely into her bed, as the moonlight spilled through the curtains she had insisted should remain open, she lay awake, thinking, studying the shadows etched across the floor. The lacy frills of her nightgown's cuffs felt scratchy on her cheek as she fiddled with the anchor around her neck. It was only some time later that she finally fell into a restless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Sukey rounded the top of the stairs on the servants' staircase, cautiously making her way along the hallway to Charlotte's bedroom. Her charge waited in her darkened chamber, seated quietly in a high backed chair. Sukey cracked the door slightly and Charlotte rose halfway to check the doorway, rising with as little sound as possible when Sukey beckoned her from the threshold. The two hustled along the corridor in the darkness. Sukey lead Charlotte back to the concealed door, which resembled the rest of the wood paneling, opening it via the seam in the wall, ushering Charlotte to the top of the stairs of the servants' staircase, where she pulled the door shut.

She took Charlotte's wrist gently, for a moment, grasping with a gentle squeeze that told her to wait. Then she pulled a candle stub and a match from the pocket beneath her petticoat, striking it on the rough plaster in the windowless staircase, a small glow beginning to emanate from the wick. As she held the candle aloft from above her young mistress' head, it's golden light helped Charlotte to see the curve and bend of the staircase as they descended. Charlotte, unable to see her own feet in the blue silk gown she'd chosen for tonight's meeting, a true match to the deep color that characterized most of the continental uniforms, was thankful for each step that didn't send her hurtling down the staircase in a heap of silk and incompetence.

Once she found purchase on the last step, she nearly hopped with excitement onto the prep kitchen floor below. Sukey followed her as the two left the prep kitchen and swung open the heavy mahogany door that lead out of the kitchen and into the back hallway. With a quick glance in all directions, Charlotte hurried to the back entrance leading to the raised stone porch. She slid the lock aside and in a flourish of fabric, squeezed through the doorway with Sukey darting out behind her.

Out in the chilly autumn air, Charlotte turned back and grinned at Sukey in the sparse moonlight. Sukey waved her off with the fingers of her right hand, flipping them up and down with the back of her hand facing upwards in a shooing gesture. Charlotte smiled and watched Sukey lift herself up onto the heavy stone crest of the bolstered railing to wait for her return. As she descended the stairs and swung back around to the front of the house, she gave Sukey a nod, and hurried down the embankment to the dock.

Abraham's letter the day before describing "a varied list of flora and fauna in Setauket," which was in fact correspondence for another purpose only capitalizing on a conversation surrounding nature which they'd had at dinner, had told Charlotte that not only were there at least six different type of oak trees on Long Island, but also that they would be meeting with the handler the following night.

The alternating sounds of whipping and whispering of fabric as Charlotte descended the hill alerted Abe, hidden on the far side of the big oak tree, to her approach. He appeared in as nonthreatening a manner as possible so he wouldn't startle her, making himself visible in silhouette very deliberately.

"Hello," Charlotte whispered.

Abraham nodded with a warm smile at her. He jerked his head discreetly and indicated to Charlotte that she should turn her attentions to the sound, and a small boat making it's way across the bay. In the shaded cover of the tree, they watched as it was rowed gradually towards them. When the small craft had drawn nearer, Abraham put out his arm in a gracious gesture to allow Charlotte to take hold of it and accompany him down the hill. She walked hesitantly down the embankment in her slippers, her panniers bumping against her legs as the coastal wind whipped her Robe à la Française around her. A billowing yet fitted blue over robe, coupled with a beautifully ornamented buff brocade top petticoat and stomacher to match were her "uniform" this evening. She doubted she'd wear this evening piece for anything other than a meeting of this type, reminiscent as it was of the continental army uniform. Heavy silk ornamentation adorned the cuffs of her three quarter sleeves, the deep, revealing squared neck of her robe and stomacher, and the hem and inside trimmings of her robe. Her hair had been curled with a hair iron warmed on the fire, and put up on her head, but Sukey had brushed it out after their dinner with the Williams family that evening, and now it lay in smooth, voluminous waves down her shoulders, held in place only by a simple blue ribbon headband. Her anchor hung around her neck by a matching ribbon, but no other jewelry nor finery decorated the young patriot. In a deep brown wool cape, she wondered if perhaps she was overdressed, but assumed it was far too late to be worrying about that now.

Abe and Charlotte made their way across the wooden planks that made up the dock and waited, side by side, halfway down, while the tiny craft made its way closer to the shore. It seemed that there were three figures inside the little rowboat, a decidedly greater number than both Abe and Charlotte expected, and probably a greater number than the boat was intended for when it was built. Charlotte could discern the differences between the three shapes, but could make out none of their features. The moon had risen high, but was barely a sliver, it's light nearly ineffectual under the cover of the trees if one intended to see any farther than ten feet in front of them. They could hear quiet voices as the boat approached, which grew louder as the little craft rocked back and forth.

Soon the craft with the three figures was bobbing awkwardly alongside the dock, and Charlotte and Abraham, who was himself quite alarmed, could hear intermittent shouting and cursing as the three jockeyed for stability and balance in the rowboat. The wind was blowing gently enough, but some of the sounds of their conversation were obscured, though other words were spoken quiet forcefully and could be heard quite clearly.

"You're the only person I know who insists on standing in a boat while it's still sailin'! Ya shite!"

"There's no call for that kind of language, Caleb, we're to be in mixed compan-"

"Sit down, you're tipping me in!"

"Daft bastard!"

Abe turned to his left to see Charlotte standing with her hand to her mouth in the most delicate fashion possible, trying to stifle outright laughter. The corners of her mouth were turned up in a tight smile, and her body shook as she giggled silently. It was refreshing and oddly comforting to hear the voices of young men squabbling and cursing at one another. She missed her brothers, and was happy this was a time to laugh instead of cry.

"Don't pull the–

"Well stop swaying, then!"

With a jarring –thunk!- The boat slammed against the dock, knocking the hull on something below with a sickening crack, and sending a reverberation up the posts that both Charlotte and Abe felt keenly in the bottoms of their feet. They were clearly struggling below.

"Abe!" Caleb called. "Help me tie the boat, will ya?"

Abe sprung into action and grabbed for a rope that was tossed up onto the top of the deck.

"Benny boy, I swear if you don't get your arse up that ladder," she heard Caleb begin.

"You're _moving_ too much! Caleb, I thought you were a proper boatman!"

Charlotte decided she should probably intervene. She weighed her options. She was, in all likelihood, the best swimmer out of all five of them. She swam as often as she was allowed and as long as it was warm enough for to do so. Always in secret. Always with Sukey and Sadie standing watch. Usually she swam in the cool, clear, brackish river by her house, or in the nearby pond. Judging by both her own hours of practice and the relative mutual disbelief in the capabilities of their compatriots in seemingly everything nautical being voiced by those below the dock, Charlotte assumed she should at least attempt to offer some assistance. It was cold enough this time of year that if someone fell into the sound, there would be no solution other than for them to be brought to the house and tended to, or risk hypothermia. That would be a disaster. It would both require harboring of a rebel in a primarily loyalist region, and would likely ruin their cover. No, they couldn't risk drawing attention to themselves. Charlotte unfastened her cape and folded it in half, draping it over one of the dock posts. Then she went to where the ladder was mounted. She couldn't see much, in the dark and shadow of the dock and the trees, and while her stays were snug and not suffocating, she still could not bend very far over. So she crouched as gracefully as she possibly could, held onto the end cap of the railing beside her for balance, and reached her hand down into the darkness, towards the young man below.

Captain Benjamin Tallmadge was quite finished with the antics of both Caleb Brewster and "Aaron McKenna." Glancing upward from his purchase on the ladder, he could see the shadows of a thin hand extended over the side of the dock. He assumed the hand belonged to Abraham, and grasped onto it, not noticing how soft it was. He used it not for support but for balance, grasping the opposite railing with his other arm as he climbed with powerful legs. Once he managed to climb high enough, nearly to the top, he glanced upwards in his climb and locked gaze with the largest brown eyes on the most beautiful face he'd ever seen. He paused for a moment, taken aback, his mouth slightly parted. Charlotte cast her gaze downwards, in deference, towards the abundance of pooled fabric around her, hair falling into her face. She attempted to hide her bashfulness and alarm when she noticed that Captain Tallmadge was in fact one of the more handsome men she'd ever laid eyes upon.

As he climbed the remainder of the way, hurrying up the ladder to a flat surface so he could regain his composure and his dignity, Ben retained his hold on Charlotte's hand, with no apparent use for it other than the pleasure of it's company. She could feel a kind of current running between the two, one she'd have been incompetent to explain.

As Ben climbed the last few rungs of the ladder, he gently lifted her with him, brining her to stand on her two feet as his officer's boots found purchase on the dock. She prayed for grace and femininity as she raised herself up, trying not to put weight on him. Then she could look at him. And she did, while he looked at her. His soft lips, his strong nose, his handsome jaw, his intense, hooded eyes. And the pleasant, reassuring warmth that seemed to exist between them as though it had all along. They were quite close together, inches from being pressed against one another on multiple points of contact. Neither seemed to notice that they should perhaps make their distance more appropriate. Neither seemed to have their wits about them.

Abraham had secured the boat to one of the dock posts, and now was only waiting for the remaining two guests to ascend. He glanced over and saw that Ben and Charlotte were simply standing there, staring at one another. He sighed, and came around behind Charlotte where Ben, who had ignored him until now, was forced to acknowledge him, gently dropping Charlotte's hand.

"Captain Benjamin Tallmadge, may I present my cousin, Miss Charlotte Cornelia Adams." Abraham said sedately.

Charlotte took a step back when Abraham approached and she had noticed the error.

Ben looked at Charlotte's pretty, round face once again. How open, how honest everything about her seemed. He could read everything on her face, like a spy's coded map, her naked expressions, every shadow cast by the moon and each faint line, the soft porcelain skin and all its lovely features mesmerizing him. Trembling lips, the gentle whipping of her hair in the ocean breeze, the rise and fall of her generous chest beneath her stomacher, and the incessant submissive blinking she couldn't seem to help tugged at something deep below the pit of his stomach, and he tucked that feeling away as fervently as possible while she still stood before him.

The colors of her gown had not been lost on him, and he scanned over her figure as slowly as he dared.

"Charlotte," he whispered, softly, as though he wanted to feel the name on his lips, in his mouth. He suddenly realized his error and shook his head dismissively; glad she was probably the only one to hear. He clicked his heels together and bowed with all the propriety and gentility of a proper officer and gentleman. "Miss Adams," he said.

Charlotte, as Sukey had taught her, placed her right hand in a posed fashion in front of her dress, with elegantly crooked fingers, and took her dress in her left hand. Then she lowered into curtsey, her petticoats and robe pooling beneath her in a dark wave. When she was lowest in her dip, she looked up at Ben with big, open eyes, and, dare he assume, a bit of flirtation, and said only "Captain," the perfect picture of acquiescence.

Ben couldn't help but smile warmly at her, flushing a little bit and looking away in disbelief. Charlotte smiled in return, prompting an eye roll and another wave of nerves to settle upon Abraham. Caleb's voice bellowed from behind Ben, where he was waiting on the ladder.

"If you move your college boy arse, we can_ all _stand on the dock." He barked.

Ben moved, reluctantly, and Charlotte backed up to give everyone room.

This time Charlotte sniffed with laughter, attempting to stifle it, but instead broke into a smile and a short giggle. It only endeared her to him more. Ben loved Caleb as a brother, and while he was often unwilling to laugh even at those jokes of Caleb's which were truly funny for purposes of maintaining an officer's seriousness, he truly found his friend amusing and was glad Charlotte had the sense of humor to feel the same.

He smiled, but what he said was "I apologize for my officers. While talented men, they often lack the most basic social graces. Especially this one," he said, gesturing towards Caleb who grinned and moved around Ben to stand on his other side.

"Caleb?" Charlotte asked, smiling. "Oh, he'll all right."

She nodded at Caleb who had produced an apple from his coat pocket and was now cutting it with a knife. He nodded to Charlotte with a smile and looked at Ben with a sliver of apple in his hand and raised it to him in smug, gloating greeting. Ben cast him a dark look. A third figure rose from beneath the dock, a slighter looking young man.

"This is, uh, Second Leiutenant Aaron McKenna," Ben offered.

The young man bowed awkwardly, and instead of attributing the discomfort with which he performed the activity to another possibility, she simply assumed he was young and inexperienced. Charlotte lowered herself again gently, nothing like the ceremony with which she curtseyed for Ben, but with respect nonetheless.

Abe shook hands with the young man, returning to Charlotte's side afterward.

"You are from Virginia?" Ben asked.

Charlotte nodded. "I am. Give me liberty, or give me death!" She said enthusiastically, quoting fellow Virginian Patrick Henry.

Ben beamed. Then he came to his senses and restrained himself.

"Your brothers are soldiers." He said.

Charlotte nodded. "Yes, three of them, one a Captain, all in the 12th Virginia. My remaining brother maintains our farm."

"And your social circles?" He asked.  
"Most advantageous for observation." Charlotte said. "Great Aunt Catharine is rife with invitations. I trust Caleb mentioned my traveling permissions?"

Ben nodded. "Caleb also said you will be encountering officers." Suddenly, Ben hated this idea.

Charlotte nodded. "Dining with, most frequently, I'd imagine. Unfortunately I have no experience with poisons." She said dryly.

Caleb and Ben both laughed, slight concern and reservation behind Ben's chuckle. He hoped she knew how to keep that sentiment, close as it was to his own, to herself.

"Well," Ben began. "I certainly wouldn't want to put a lady in jeopardy, but it seems you've established a possible method for leaving letters and meeting agents as information arises that seems quite sound."

Charlotte nodded. She pointed to the end of the dock, where a wooden box had been placed. It could have held any number of maritime accessories, but in this case,

"The bell and the anchor are inside that box. I would hang the bell if a message were in that tree with the very large vacant cavern, and the anchor if I want to meet."

Abraham reiterated his message, "I would like to avoid meetings in favor of drops if possible, in Charlotte's case." he said.

Ben nodded "Yes, of course. Safety and security are our priorities."

Ben couldn't help himself. Caleb had told him some about her, but he couldn't have known this detail for certain, and Abraham wouldn't have mentioned it. But he had to know.

"We of course wouldn't want to…offend or anger your intended by placing you in any danger," he tested gently.

"My intended?" Charlotte asked. She looked around, confused.

"You-" Ben began. "You don't have an intended?" He leaned forward as he asked, asking earnestly, as though they were alone. He would, of course, be teased by Caleb, but he was of the impression that this had been Caleb's intention all along.

"Unless there has been a change in the last few minutes!" Charlotte said, jovially, meaning to be lighthearted and suggest an intended would be news to her, but when she looked up at him, she knew from the expression on his face that yes, there had been a change. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she shivered slightly, though with tremors of excitement, not in reaction to the temperature.

No one was saying a word, so Charlotte pointed to the box, attempting to fill the silence.

"In the much the same way as I could when leaving intelligence, Caleb, or, whoever would be arriving, could put up the signals for me, and drop messages in the tree in kind. The contact could therefore go in both directions."

Ben nodded, as did Caleb. They looked about, all seeming to notice how long they'd been in sight. Ben stepped carefully forward towards Charlotte and said gently

"Miss Adams. It's been my….pleasure, to meet you. You are a welcome addition to our efforts. We would, if you wouldn't mind, like to speak with Abraham in private."

Charlotte nodded, curtseying in a fashion meant to acknowledge them all.

"It's been my pleasure to meet you both," she said, to Ben and Aaron each, receiving polite nods in return.

She scooped up her cape in her hands, smiling at Caleb and Abraham, and turned to go.

"Do take care of yourself." Ben called in her wake, staring after her, unable to look away. Charlotte turned over her shoulder and gave him a brilliant smile.

"Yes, Captain." She said. Then, before she lost her nerve, she hurried quickly up the hill.

The other three returned to their consort, but Ben was certain he was the reason behind the pause that Charlotte took at the top of the hill, her hair and her dress blowing about her in the wind so she looked like something out of a dream.

When they were pulling away from the dock, all in tact and (miraculously) dry, Ben happened to glance up at the house and see the light of a small candle glowing in a window that could belong to no one but Charlotte, and which could have been nothing if not intentional. He stared after the light long after he could see it, warmed in his heart by its glow.


	6. Chapter 6

In the relative warmth of the late fall sun, Sukey was hanging laundry on the line beside the house, while Sadie did the washing a few yards away. Charlotte had strategically placed herself on a blanket in the shade of a tree, within speaking distance of Sukey.

"How long until Philip gets back?" Charlotte called to her.

Sukey allowed her exasperation to show on her face but does not allow it to rule her response. She softened her demeanor.

"It was your decision that they sail, Miss Charlotte. One I agreed with, but you got to give it time. Phillip got to drive the wagon all the way back, then collect Powhatan, then he got to find a suitable boat manned by someone you trust, and book passage. They'll be along in a few weeks or so."

Though she was anxious to have her handsome chestnut warmblood gelding in Setauket with her, Charlotte nodded her understanding, and turned back to her book, The Castle of Otranto. She attempted to focus her attention on the pages, but the stronger than usual ocean breeze and her thoughts of her duties to the Culper ring, as well as thoughts of her handler, were occupying her thoughts despite her attempts to evade them.

She had been at Great Aunt Catharine's home for nearly one full week, and as yet had not had occasion to meet any British officers, but she was not without intelligence to communicate to her fellow patriots. She had made some observations when she and Sukey had ventured into the small village area of Setauket, and had committed them to her memory. She rose carefully, book in hand, and bent as carefully as possible to retrieve the blanket she had been sitting on. She folded it haphazardly, holding it to her chest with the book tucked inside. She went to Sukey, waiting at a distance to tell her she was going upstairs to compose a letter. When Sukey's face peeked out from around the bed sheet she had just hung, she smiled serenely at Charlotte, and reminded her "you haven't played your pianoforte today."

"It's not _my_ pianoforte," she said sullenly, not out of complaint over the piano, which was beautiful, but because Sukey was gently reminding her to practice, but could also be not so gentle in her reminder if she wanted. Sukey sighed and put her hands out for Charlotte to give her the book and blanket.

"Go. One hour. I still have linens to ring out while Mama washes. Then I'll be in to dress you for dinner. Major Hewlett is coming tonight. He's a great fan of your auntie's."

Charlotte sighed and suppressed a groan, inciting a warning look from Sukey, who took her blanket and book from her and tipped her head in the direction of the living room inside.

As Charlotte mounted the stairs to the raised porch, Sukey called after her "Open window please."

Charlotte sighed again and made her way down the short hallway into the ornate living space. She was uncertain whether the open window policy was for Sukey's enjoyment, or for purposes of ensuring that Charlotte was indeed practicing. She suspected both. She carefully unlatched and lifted open the window near the piano, noting the considerable amount of light that still permeated the space despite the growing lateness of the afternoon. She left the candelabras unlit. She pulled up a second window, to enjoy the afternoon breeze, and then sat down at the piano bench. She practiced her warm-up exercises, and then played her favorite parts of several different pieces, with her own variations, for the rest of the hour.

When Sukey came to find her, the sun was starting to set, and she ushered Charlotte upstairs as the house bean to ready itself for dinner guests.

When Charlotte had expressed interest in what the major was wont to talk about over dinner, the advice her great aunt had given her was "Horses, he does love his horses."

Charlotte had been puzzled, but was glad she had taken her aunt's advice once they were well into a pleasant thirty minute conversation on both Charlotte's horse: her desire for his safe return, her delight at the prospect of being able to ride on Long Island once spring came around, and the Major's white and chestnut geldings. They returned to the subject often as conversation drifted to relations within the town, commerce, and news from England. Major Hewlett gently teased Charlotte's aunt, reminding her he wasn't at liberty to discuss certain matters, but nonetheless divulging enough information for Charlotte to retain that she considered of interest.

Eventually, Charlotte was called to the piano at the Major's request. When, at her gentle probing to discover what he'd most like to hear, he asked specifically for "something lighthearted" she chose the Mozart piano sonata number five in the key of G. Turning once or twice during her performance to her audience, she noticed Major Hewlett had closed his eyes, and with a brandy in one hand, was gently directing his other in time with her playing. Aunt Catharine simply nodded at her approvingly. The rest of the time she kept her eyes cast down towards her piano, despite her lack of need to see the keys. She allowed herself to disassociate when she was playing, disappearing into the music, allowing herself to play from memory. It was then, as her nimble fingers moved across the keys, that she allowed herself to conjure, yet again, her memories of Captain Tallmadge. His face, his gentlemanly mannerisms, his voice. When she turned from the piano again, finding herself facing a British officer's uniform, she tried to hide her disappointment.

When they had bade the Major goodnight, and both ladies had been complimented for their hosting and musical talents respectively, as well as for the pleasure of their company, Charlotte followed great aunt Catharine upstairs, and retired to her bedroom while her aunt made her way to her own.

Charlotte fiddled impatiently as Sukey undressed her, helping to disrobe herself as quickly as possible by unhooking, unpinning and unlacing whichever parts of her garments Sukey was not working on. When finally she had been dressed in a nightgown and full-length silk dressing gown, she relaxed, sitting at her desk beside her fireplace with her paper, inkpot and quill. She looked over at Sukey, who had of yet said nothing, nor had asked her who she was writing to.

In sullen defeat, she realized she'd have to communicate with the rest of the spy ring without disguising her words. She loathed the prospect that she would appear provincial and uneducated to the handsome Yale graduate she couldn't keep from her thoughts. Whilst she and her brothers had learned most subjects together during their tutoring as children, they separated while William, Teddy, Nathaniel, and Edward learned Hebrew, Latin and Greek and Charlotte was studied in piano, voice, and elocution. She had never outgrown her jealousy that they had mastered the additional languages, despite the fact that she wouldn't trade the experience she had with music and the joy it had brought her for anything. She spoke French, but it was far from having three of the most ancient languages on earth at her intellectual disposal. She sat, frustrated, realizing that with no other instruction to allow her to do otherwise, she'd be forced to communicate in English.

For that reason, she chose to utilize vague nuances, as though she were corresponding with another young lady who knew already of what she spoke. Nevertheless, she felt she had communicated clearly enough that Caleb and Ben, being of similar mind and objective, (and Aaron and Abraham, if they happened to read the correspondence) would know to what and whom she was referring. This first letter she folded. Then she thought.

She'd been thinking all too often of the Captain since their meeting the night before last. She knew that Abraham's plan to include her must have come as a surprise to his friends, and hoped that though she was unknown to the Captain, that he might yet trust her.

She rose, as Sukey looked up from the fireplace where she was adjusting the logs, and went to her bed pillows. Lifting the ones under which she slept, she found her treasured blue silk scarf, which she had kept hidden since she had placed it around her shoulders the night she and Abraham met with Caleb and she was recruited to the ring. She wrapped it around her shoulders once more, running her fingers over the embroidery she'd done in the silk. A constellation of white, five pointed stars, in white silken thread, significant only to herself. Thirteen larger stars represented the capital seats of each of the thirteen colonies, from the north in Concord, New Hampshire, to Atlanta, Georgia in the south. She had needed to compress the design slightly, because her intention when she began was that the scarf function as a map, and as she looked at her handiwork, she saw that she'd succeeded. Anyone with knowledge of the colonial topography would understand what it was the scarf was intending to represent, upon laying it out and examining it. The smaller stars in the constellation were places of importance for Charlotte. Her home in Virgnia, her aunt's home here in Setauket, Boston, where her father had come from and where her brothers had gone to college, the seaside estate of her uncle's in Charleston where she and her brothers had spent several summers, Bermuda, to whence her parents' sailboat had been bound when it was lost at sea. She looked with fondness on several of the other stars, places in the colonies where she and her family had accrued fond memories. She laid it out on the desk and ran her delicate fingertips over the stars, each perfectly symmetrical, the result of her labor of love. Then Charlotte made a decision. She admitted to herself that her longing was for more than a victory in the colonies. She decided to compose a second letter. Sukey cast her a glance when she noticed her charge choosing another page and dipping her quill once again.

Dearest Captain Tallmadge,

I can imagine that it is only with great reservation and out of sincere need that you welcome another to your band of agents. I wish to extend my gratitude for being allowed to contribute, and to express my great reverence for the mission with which we have been charged. I have every confidence in your ability to bring this mission to its most successful possible conclusion. It is my great hope that I, being yet unknown to you, might assuage any concerns that may linger, and demonstrate my loyalty and dedication to our great cause. It is for this reason you have at present in your possession an item which I treasure immeasurably. It began as a beautiful silk scarf, a gift from my brothers, but it has become considerably more than that. The embroidery is my own: created as a secret comfort and constant reference. Thethirteen larger five pointed stars in constellation that traverse the fabric are indicative of the capital cities of each of our colonies. The smaller stars are each of varied importance to me. My home in Virginia, this home in Setauket, and Boston, from whence my father's family hails, are all among them. I have kept it always within my reach, but now it's mission is as emissary, to my trusted handler, that he might place trust in me.

With Dedication and Affection,

Charlotte Cornelia Adams

Charlotte blew gently on the ink to allow it to try, and reached inside her desk for a stick of red sealing wax, and her brass seal. Heating the wax in the light from the taper on her desk, she created a neat melted circle at the letter's overlapping fold, pressing her seal inside the wax to reveal her personal variation on the Adams "A." She did not seal her intelligence in the same way. With only a red smudge of wax to seal it, it could remain anonymous. This was between herself and the Captain. Knowing that Caleb would be the only person to collect her letters for now, and since no intelligence had yet been placed in the tree, the likelihood that an another would happen upon her letter with the Captain's name, and her scarf was quite low. She went to her vanity and selected the perfume that she always wore as her signature scent, and brought it back to the table. Prepared to infuse the perfume with her scent, she was rescued by Sukey who stood up from where she had been sitting, threading a new ribbon into a set of Charlotte's stays.

"What you doin'?" She asked Charlotte.

Charlotte looked up innocently, saying nothing.

"You sendin' that scarf to Cap'n Tallmadge?" She asked.

Charlotte's eyes went wide.

"You mention him once, and thereafter you been moonin' about this house like a lovesick dog."

Charlotte had shared information on her new role with Sukey, gradually, testing her tolerance for Charlotte's forthcoming plans. Sukey had not been surprised, but had cursed Abraham under her breath for allowing her zealous charge to become part of a spy ring.

Sukey had overheard the opinions of many on the subject of colonial independence, and most did not favor the idea, nor support the cause. But Sukey supposed that combatting the beliefs of a young girl raised in a cradle of patriotism was a futile effort. She would much prefer to observe, oversee and protect Charlotte from adverse effects than to exempt herself from cooperation and risk Charlotte causing herself harm, without assistance or guidance. Sukey was well aware that in comparison with the arrangements of others in her situation, hers was profoundly preferable. Sukey's protection of herself required protection of Charlotte.

Sukey shook her head "Come."

She put her hand out for the perfume bottle. Charlotte handed it over to her. Sukey then came around behind Charlotte and tugged gently at her dressing gown, signaling to her charge to shrug off the open garment she'd left open.

"You douse that in perfume, he gon' think you wear too much and I don't wash you right," Sukey said.

Charlotte giggled. Sukey daubed her neck on three points with the perfume and then gently placed the scarf around Charlotte's shoulders. While she explained to Sukey her request to place the items in the tree, with the inclusion of an additional treat for Caleb, since she knew Sukey would not allow her down to the dock while she was in only her dressing gown, and Sukey was as yet still dressed, the scarf absorbed the sweet perfume, scents of mandarin, lotus and iris.

Late at night, as Caleb Brewster docked his tiny absconded boat and mounted the hill to the great oak tree, looking around to be sure that there were no witnesses. He made his way up to the oak, reaching his hand into the open cavern, puzzled when at first he felt nothing, grinning when he moved some concealment sticks and debris aside and felt multiple items within. He nodded to himself, retrieving first a small, thin, note, sealed only with wax and no seal. Next, he found a bundle of muslin, within it an apple, a wedge of cheese, some biscuits, and salt port. Grinning openly, he secreted the food away in his coat pocket for his return journey to camp. He chucked as the last package he gingerly pulled from the tree, turning the thick rectangular bundle around in his hands. Heavy, good quality linen covered the scarf Charlotte had carefully packed away. Inside, more cloth, Caleb thought, judging by the feel. The last thing he noticed made Caleb smile once more and chuckle to himself. The deep blue ribbon binding the linen had tucked neatly into it a letter, addressed in beautiful, flowing script to "Captain Benjamin Tallmadge."

Ambling down to the dock, Caleb shook his head, chucking again to himself.

"Benny Boy. You lucky arsehole."


	7. Chapter 7

Caleb found his way back to camp in the afternoon of the following day. At half past four, he found his way back into General Scott's garrison on the Delaware. His destination was his best friend's tent. He had been held up by some heavy rain in which he had needed to hunker down under heavy cover to stay dry and avoid hypothermia in the late autumn chill. Thankfully, the rain had only lasted a few hours and he was on his way soon thereafter. He had rationed the food he'd been left in the tree, as well as what he had brought with him from camp, grateful to have had extra in the cold, wet rock cavern under which he'd sheltered those few hours. He had also managed to keep all correspondence (and accompanying articles) dry, to his delight. He had placed them inside a sealskin messenger bag he often wore concealed inside his coat, where they had remained throughout his journey. He wouldn't have dared open Ben's personal package from Charlotte, and the unmarked intelligence, while something he'd be privy to, he would wait to read with Ben as well. As a result, he was anxious to learn of their contents. Whilst he strode confidently through the encampment in the wood, he placed his left hand against his side so he could feel the reassuring presence of the items in their bag.

Captain Benjamin Tallmadge was making his very best effort to continue working, combing through a bevy of lackluster intelligence reports on his desk. His regimental coat sat draped over his chair, an oil lamp burning on his desk, and for the fifth time since he sat to read the letters before him, he rose again and began pacing around the limited space inside the tent. He knew it was quite possible that Charlotte had not yet had time to perform observations or compose letters on matters of interest, but he had sent Caleb anyway, thinking that between she and Abraham one of them might at least have left something for the currier to collect.

As the time for Caleb's return grew more imminent with the passing of each hour of the afternoon, Ben became more anxious, though his ability to conduct himself as an officer would have left none but his closest friends aware of his condition. Ben was painfully aware of the constancy of Charlotte in his thoughts. But he was also determined to accomplish what he must, and so he struggled as best he could to keep away such pleasant musings, and, if he were honest, fantasies, until he had some time at the close of day to seek some repose and think to himself.

Finally, on a sixth pass of paces around his chair, he looked through the open flap of his tent, which he'd tied off to the side to enjoy the pleasant afternoon air, and saw Caleb standing in consort with a young lieutenant a few yards down the line.

"Brewster!" he called, not without a bit of urgency in his voice. Caleb finished chastising the younger soldier (in jest) and departed his company, patting the young man on the back before climbing a small hill to reach Ben at the threshold of his tent. Before Ben had a chance to ask after the possible success of his trip, Caleb looked up at his friend and smiled "Have I got somethin' fer you." He followed Ben back into the tent, where his friend sat at his desk, while Caleb pulled up a small stool and perched on it.

He shuffled around in the sealskin bag to find the lone letter first, handing it over to Ben.

"Abe?" Ben whispered, turning over the folded, sealed page. Caleb shook his head.

"Trouble." He said, in such a way that Ben knew he meant the girl who bore the nickname, not the noun and its menacing implications itself.

Ben looked up at Caleb, masking a larger grin with a slightly suppressed smile.

"Already?" He asked. Caleb nodded, and smiled in return, nodding with his head towards the folded parchment, waiting for his friend to open it.

Ben broke open the seal, and read reports of what Charlotte had overheard regarding movements of troops for permanent winter stationing, her observations of some coming and goings of supplies to Setauket, and information suggesting that Major Hewlett, lately of Long Island, was deeply concerned about the possibility of French interference in the sound. Ben nodded. All things they had been aware of in some respect, but Charlotte's attention to detail (cleverly disguised as gossip) helped to confirm reports that had been less than complete, and corroborate other fragments of intelligence that could now be properly assessed. He told Caleb as much, and his friend nodded, quite satisfied.

Caleb had supported Abraham's idea of including Charlotte, because he knew her, and because, presumably, Abe had already told her enough that it served no purpose not to utilize her if they could. Never would he otherwise have considered allowing a woman to do such dangerous work. Even asking Anna to hang the signals was a potentially hazardous situation for her each time she did so. He was glad that he had been right in forwarding the recommendation of Charlotte as an addition to the ring.

Ben stared at the letter, sitting open on his desk, staring at the rolling, flowing script of words written with Charlotte's hand, resisting the urge to run his fingertips over the heavy, high quality paper. He realized Caleb was staring at him, his lips pursed in a mischievous little grin, eyes sparkling.

"What is it, Caleb?" Ben asked, weary.

"I told you I had something fer you." Caleb said.

Ben lifted the letter from the desk and furrowed his brow, confused. He assumed he had already been given what Caleb had brought for him.

"That…is for Washington." Caleb said. He pulled the wrapped linen and its accompanying letter from his bag, gently holding it out to his friend. "This….is for you."

Ben reached out his hands and took the linen package, gently clasping it between his palms and thumbs, noting the letter tucked into the ribbon. He looked at it for a few moments, a warm, pleasant anticipation quickening in his stomach.

"Caleb, would you give me-"

"Aw, come now, I've brought it all this way and you're not gonna let me-"

"Caleb! Get out." Ben looked up at his friend from his seat at the desk, pleading and commanding at the same time.

Caleb smiled and pointed outside the tent, where the sun was setting and small camp fires were being set up to cook rations. "I'll just be out there." He said, trudging off. Ben closed the flap of the tent behind him and sat down to open Charlotte's parcel.

After he had read Charlotte's letter four complete times, Benjamin Tallmadge had unwrapped the package containing her scarf. As he gently unfolded it, he noticed first the beautiful sapphire color of the silk, and the bright white stars that seemed so scattered when folded. He had emptied his desk of all correspondence but the scarf's accompanying letter. When it was spread out, he could make out what she had sent him. It was indeed a map, but she had not done herself justice in its description. The small white thread at one of the corners of the scarf was not lost on him, and as the night wore on, he began to unravel Charlotte's secret.

At seven o'clock at night, Caleb was summoned back to Ben's tent. The scarf lay spread out on the table, but the letter had been carefully folded and tucked into the pocket of Ben's waistcoat. When Caleb entered, still chewing on a bit of salt pork he had left, he was puzzled when he saw the scarf, but waited for Ben to speak.

"She_ made_ this, Caleb, all of these stars." Ben gestured to the beautiful pattern in the fabric. "What do you see?"

Caleb chucked at his enamored friend. "I'm seein' stars….just like you are." He laughed. What's it I'm supposed to see?"

Ben sighed impatiently "This map, Caleb, it's a map, is completely to scale. All the proportions are correct. This thread here," he pointed out the lone white thread, stitched with vertical navy blue notches, "is the key."

As Caleb stepped closer to look, Ben unwittingly kept himself between Caleb and the garment, protecting it.

"These are five mile intervals. The large stars are colony capitals. The smaller ones are…places of importance to Miss Adams. See here," Ben pointed at the star which signified Catharine Woodhull's house. "is Setauket, and this, this is her home, in Virginia." He pointed at the star in the plantation's stead.

"What was the nature of the letter?" Caleb asked, raising one eyebrow with a saucy grin. He was beginning to understand.

"The nature of the letter was private." Ben paused. "But, I can say it was in hoping to establish trust."

"Well she's done it." Caleb said. He pointed to the map. "She's just given away all her hiding spots. And shown you places to find her, if need be." Caleb grinned. "What're you going to do with it?"

Ben stood upright, as though at full attention "She has entrusted it to my care."

Caleb nodded again, tearing off another piece of salt pork from a piece in his pocket. Ben crinkled up his nose, constantly concerned by Caleb's limitless supply of mysterious food. "What is that?" he asked him.

"Trouble gave it to me. One package for Washington, one fer you, one fer me," he said, biting off another piece. "She remembers me well. Speakin' of food, you should eat," he said, patting Ben's waistcoat with a free hand. Ben winced, thinking Caleb had soiled the pristine ivory garment, but was relieved to see he'd left no mark behind when he pulled his hand away. Ben sometimes envied Caleb's ability to wear what he wished. His friend was right, he should have something to eat.

"Go on, Caleb, I'll just be a moment," he replied.

"Sure," Caleb said, with one last cheeky grin at his friend as he slipped out of the tent.

Ben began to carefully fold the scarf the way Charlotte had, taking note of the softness of the fabric between his fingers. He had noticed not for the first time the sweet, pleasant notes of flowers as he leaned over the garment, a smell he recognized as Charlotte's own perfume. He had resisted the urge to raise the scarf to his nose to breathe in the calming scent, and as he folded the scarf away he chased from his mind thoughts of all the bare places on Miss Charlotte this very scarf had decorated. Her lily white neck, her shoulders. Images of her on the dock, the lovely features of her face, glances shed given him, flashed before him again, each for a countless thousandth time. He'd had a difficult enough time chasing her from his thoughts since they had met, but with this gift he was overcome. The thoughtfulness of sending him something of such value to her, of sharing something she'd made only for herself as a private remembrance. He still felt overwhelmed. He carefully wrapped the scarf back up in its linen, and, with no idea of another place to store it, gently tucked Charlotte's scarf beneath his pillow, scooping up his coat and throwing it over his shoulders before heading outside to have dinner with Caleb.

In Setauket, after dessert had concluded, guests had been seen to the door, and Charlotte had feigned interest in staying up to read by the fire, while her aunt retired to bed, the silken rebel bounded down the hill to the old oak tree, reaching her hand inside the empty cavern. When she reached past the debris she'd asked Sukey to place there for concealment, and found her correspondence gone, she breathed in an excited gasp of the late autumn ocean air, and turning, leaned back against the oak tree, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths, bathing in the secrecy that was the darkness of night, and in the overwhelming surging of the emotions in her heart.


	8. Chapter 8

_Hello Turncoats! I wanted to thank everyone for their wonderful reviews; I've gotten some great hints and some very kind comments, so thank you all so much! _

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Charlotte sat comfortably on a cushion in front of the fire, organizing the only trunk that would remain in her bedroom. Her more private personal articles and documents of importance would remain inside this locked wooden case, out of the way, but accessible if necessary. Her wardrobe she had asked Sukey to arrange at her convenience, but Charlotte's personal effects she was organizing herself. Sukey was going to store Charlotte's empty trunks away in a designated area of the eaves, which aunt Catharaine had set aside for Charlotte's things, now that she was completely settled in Setauket. The few trunks which they hadn't had occasion to go through earlier had now been unpacked, and Sukey had noticed a melancholy shadow had settled around Charlotte since they had begun the project. She had been so quiet. Sukey thought of how final it all must seem to Charlotte, seeing all of her things arranged neatly, each in its own place, as if it had always been so. This room in Setauket that was now her own. Sukey thought of how sparse Charlotte's room in Virginia had looked on the day they had left, as she moved back and forth in the new space, between the very last wardrobe trunk, the large tallboy and one of the wardrobes in the room.

Sadie was taking a survey for herself of the contents of the wardrobes and drawers in the room, as well as the shelves, and other small storage units, to be certain she knew where everything had been stored. Charlotte herself would go through them at her leisure. While Charlotte had a choice in what she wore, it was Sukey who usually assembled her wardrobe, so Charlotte thought it prudent to allow her to put things where she wished. She thought Sukey far wiser at organization than she anyway.

Sadie approached the fire and collected the copper warming pan, using a small fireplace shovel to fill it with glowing wood embers, shifting it back and forth as she went to distribute them evenly.

Charlotte would be sleeping with the windows open and a stoked fire, which Sukey thought relatively senseless, and had told her so, but Charlotte had serenely protested that she wanted to hear the sounds of the tide, and Sadie had just smiled in Charlotte's direction and patted Sukey's shoulder.

Satisfied that everything inside the little wooden trunk should remain there, she closed the lid and latched it, standing up and hoisting it into her arms with ease by both of the handles on the sides, capable of her full range of motion now that she had been changed into a nightgown and elegant, billowing dressing gown. Kneeling beside her bed she carefully put the little chest down and slid it underneath across the wooden floor. Charlotte had begun to turn down her bed when Sadie's approach with the ember filled warming pan caused her to back away from the bed and give her berth, going to take a seat in the chair beside the fire.

Charlotte noticed the small wooden figure of a rabbit that her brother Nathaniel had carved for her when they were younger, which she had placed on top of the piecrust table beside the armchair at the fire. She picked it up and turned it around in her hands, as Sukey and Sadie finished placing the trunks by Charlotte's door so they could be stored while she sat at breakfast with aunt Catharine the next morning.

Sukey came around and stood in front of Charlotte, looking straight at her so the girl would know she wanted to speak to her. She had put some things aside in the process of their unpacking that had been concealed, but not nearly well enough, and carelessness was no longer something they could afford. She needed to speak with her. She crossed her arms, looking down into the wide brown eyes that looked up at her from Charlotte's round, pale face.

"We got to talk about some things that need to be put away now," Sukey said.

"Put away?" Charlotte asked. She looked around the room, at the small trinkets on the mantle, at her books on all of the built in shelves, at her nightstand, her desk and her vanity, all bedecked with her things. "We've put everything away." Charlotte's bewilderment stemmed completely from exhaustion. She was suddenly concerned there was still more work to do.

Sukey walked around her cherry wood writing desk and opened one of the deeper drawers, reaching inside, retrieving the third edition of a notorious pamphlet, turning it so her charge could view what it was she held. Charlotte saw the familiar words _Common Sense Addressed to the Inhabitants of America_.

"Nobody can find this," Sukey said.

"Or this." She lifted a set of heavy pages on which the _Virginia Declaration of Rights_ had carefully been pasted after Charlotte cut it from the _Virginia Gazette_ that past June.

"Especially this," she said, picking up a leather bound journal into which Charlotte had pasted clippings from the _Gazette_ including patriotic editorials her brothers had written, even one she'd written herself under the anonymous moniker of "A True Virginian" that had been published. Her own thoughts and inclinations had been intermingled in her own handwriting amidst the varied pasted publications, as well as other news clippings of note, all of a radical nature, across dozens of pages, and Charlotte knew instantly that Sukey was right. She nodded emphatically in agreement, though she resented having to curtail something so intimate as her private environment to the presumed specifications of a hypothetical discovery.

"Where shall we put them?" She asked. She prayed Sukey wouldn't ask her to destroy them.

Sukey reached into the drawer again, picking up a few more items she thought should be put away. "Your Berlin is in the carriage house. We got the locked storage under the seats."

"You have the only key?" Charlotte asked.

She knew which storage Sukey was speaking of, a metal container built to fit inside the carriage's seats, hidden under the cushions. It was intended for storing money, nearly impossible to remove, and even more difficult to open beside a key. A carriage stored away under tarp in a carriage house, which would now rarely be used, was an unlikely target for nosy individuals, so Sukey's idea was quite bright in Charlotte's eyes.

"Yes. Just the one." She said. Charlotte nodded.

Sukey stood by the desk, her eyes still fixed on Charlotte.

"I know you're not finished," Charlotte said, a small smile on her face.

Sadie, satisfied that the room was in order, stroked Charlotte's hair gently as she walked by her, and Charlotte smiled up at her. "Goodnight, Sadie," she said.

"'night Miss Charlotte," she called, leaving Charlotte's room quietly.

"Come," Sukey invited, gesturing to Charlotte to follow her so she could tuck her into bed. She lifted up Charlotte's down stuffed bedcovers, pulling the warming pan from between them. Charlotte shrugged off her dressing gown, draping it over the bedcovers before climbing atop the bed and slipping between them, wiggling her feet in the warmth at the bottom of the bed. Sukey went to the fireplace and dumped the embers, adding a few more logs before coming to perch at the edge of Charlotte's bed, folding her dressing gown carefully as she spoke.

"I suppose I don't have to tell you whose island you're on," Sukey looked at her carefully "despite whose nation you think this is….or should be." She allowed her serious demeanor to waiver slightly, turning up her lips at the edges in a smile at the girl sitting beside her.

"If you going to help this boy," she felt Charlotte's legs twitch in excitement, and saw the flush in her cheeks despite he low light of the fire, the one lamp on her desk, and the candle burning beside her. "You got to be smart, and you got to be careful."

Charlotte nodded, listening.

"You cannot let your heart rule your mind," she said. "He is putting his faith in you. But you both have everything to loose." She thought of the mandatory punishment for a spy, and her blood ran cold, thinking Charlotte now qualified for such a sentence. How could so much have changed so irreversibly so quickly?

"Do you promise me you're going to be careful?" She asked earnestly.

Charlotte nodded again.

"Sukey," she began "I've wanted for so long to be of help. And now, with Abraham, and Caleb, and Anna, and….." she looked down at her hands, folded across her lap over the bedcovers "and Ben," she sighed "now I can. All I have to do is keep my eyes open."

Sukey chewed her lower lip, worrying the fabric of the dressing gown.

"The things you hear, the things you see, Charlotte, you can't worry about what's happening in this war. You'll go mad, and you will destroy your pretense. It's that pretense that's gon' keep you alive. As best you can, write what you see and think no more of it. Put it on the page, and send it away. And trust this man you seem to admire so much." Sukey smiled hesitantly. "Let him take that burden from you. Serve him as he's asking."

Charlotte smiled and leaned across to take Sukey's hand and squeeze it. Sukey squeezed back and rose from her seat, draping Charlotte's dressing gown across the bench at the end of her bed. "I promise," she declared.

"All right." Sukey nodded, satisfied, and dropped her hand, patting it for good measure. "Good night, Miss Charlotte."

Charlotte winced at the formality, but it wasn't noticed in the low light. She bundled herself down underneath the bedcovers, curling up on her side as Sukey put out the lantern on her desk and headed for the door.

"Thank you. For taking care of me," she said, her voice small in the dark, high ceilinged room.

Sukey smiled as she cracked the door open. "Yes, Miss Charlotte," she said.

Charlotte sighed and blew out the candle beside her bed. In the flicker of the glow from the fire across the room and the flutter of the shadows on the wall and the floor, Charlotte was lulled into a contemplation, imagining a time she might meet Captain Tallmadge, and he alone, by the oak tree perhaps, and what might happen there. Thinking of such things a lady would never admit to thinking of.

In the darkness of night, Caleb Brewster, boisterous and fresh from a successful game of Hazard and a fair amount of drinking, happened by his best friend's tent in the late hour, and noticed a lamp was still burning. Standing respectfully back, he called

"Captain?" in case other officers were in earshot. He liked using formality where it encouraged deference.

"Caleb," Ben called, inviting him inside.

Caleb ducked in past one of the tent flaps, and saw his friend seated on his cot in his uniform breeches and shirt. He'd discarded his boots and was seemingly preparing for bed, but Caleb noticed he seemed to have paused in the midst of accomplishing that task. He approached where Ben sat and noticed that he was holding Charlotte's gently folded scarf, which he had brought back to him the day before. Ben had remembered it when he'd gone to prepare to retire, and for a brief few moments had been turning it over in his hands as he sat quietly in the glow of a single lamp beside his bed. He'd carried her letter in the pocket of his waistcoat throughout the day, slightly anxious that the scarf had been left unattended under his pillow all day, though he doubted anyone would abscond with it. Gently rubbing the silk between his fingers he now looked up at his best friend. He smelled whiskey and heard the jingle of coin in Caleb's pocket. _He must have robbed them blind, _Ben thought. Caleb always did well at Hazard. He realized he was happy to see him. He ran the pad of his thumb gently over a large white star.

"Caleb," he began, in his voice the deep timbre of firm intent and unwavering determination his best friend knew characterized the very resolve that had earned Benjamin all it had thus far. "I have to have her."

Caleb smiled, a gentle, reassuring smile and cuffed Ben on his left shoulder.

"You will." He turned to leave, and glanced over his shoulder

"G'night, Tall Boy!" he said, disappearing through the flap of the tent. As Caleb departed, a smile broke across his face, and he whistled an old whaling tune as he found his way to his own tent.


	9. Chapter 9

"Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen," Sukey raised one finger up in the air as she continued to count with her other hand, silencing Charlotte before a sound could escape her parted mouth. The young patriot had paced around the rug in front of the fireplace at least seven times before the exact moment when she decided to make her inquiry. Lack of impulse control, coupled with anxiety, had compelled her to break her silence, despite the fact that the older girl was in the midst of counting fresh, clean chemises, neatly stacked on Charlotte's desk.

Somehow Sukey had anticipated exactly when Charlotte's tolerance would wear thin and had hushed her before she'd spoken. Charlotte sighed with relief, and turned to go sit in the armchair by the fire. Now that Sukey knew she wanted to talk, Charlotte could relax until she could be given the necessary attention.

Sukey looked up from her task, moving the final stack of folded chemises into place at the end of a neat row on the desk, now covered with freshly laundered underclothes. Charlotte's stockings were carefully rolled in dozens of fresh laundered pairs, stacked along with several sets of stays, fichus, nightgowns, dressing gowns, handkerchiefs, and all other manner of personal articles she might require on their three week visit to York City for Christmas.

Her gowns and petticoats, stomachers, shoes, and personal adornments from jewelry to gloves to small, charming fascinator tricorne hats had already been carefully packed away, with the exception of the winter traveling habit she would wear the next day, left out and waiting for her.

A small trunk Charlotte had packed for herself contained a blank book for writing, stationary, quills, ink, a dozen books she wanted to read, needlework she would begrudgingly work on, sheet music, and a bevy of other articles she felt insecure being without, mostly trinkets of sentimental value. Among them, a small round silken blue pocket frame in which an illustration of her horse, Powhatan, had been carefully mounted, his handsome chestnut head and neck rendered in watercolors by an artist in Virgina. Smaller likenesses of each of her family members also occupied the small trunk, as well as traveling papers necessitated for her passage, and Sukey's papers, and pass, which she could wear around her neck if she wanted to spend time on her own in the city. The small trunk sat open on the bench at the end of her bed, abandoned for now, while Charlotte sat worrying in the armchair.

Before Charlotte had the chance to have her question addressed, from beneath the front facing windows of her bedroom came the sounds of hooves approaching at a canter and skidding to a stop in the fine gravel driveway. Charlotte and Sukey exchanged a glance and paused for a moment, waiting to see what they could hear. Hearing moderate commotion, they wordlessly made for the door to Charlotte's bedroom. Charlotte followed closely behind Sukey, trying to make as little noise as possible as they snuck out into the hallway and padded along the runner rug, Charlotte's robe anglaise rustling around her. They approached the top of the main staircase overlooking the great front hall, and perched out of sight, waiting, as they had done on many occasions in their youth, in Virginia.

From below they could hear the sounds of muffled conversation and heavy boots on the hall floor as a guest was ushered into Catharine's receiving room, and the accompanying sounds of aunt Catharine reporting to said room. The stranger's voice was distinctly male, though what little he said to the servant escorting him could not be made out. And judging by the sounds across the wooden floor of the great hallway, their guest's footwear could only be a pair of riding boots, the kind so common to military uniforms. Charlotte looked at Sukey, gesturing with a gentle jerk of her head towards the grandfather clock at the end of the hallway. The hour was late, nearing ten o'clock. Sukey nodded. It had not been lost on her, either. Whoever was visiting had been sent on urgent business.

Sounds from around the corner and down the hall indicated that Charlotte's last trunk was being brought up the servants' staircase for Sukey to fill in preparation for their morning departure. The two girls quickly hurried back to Charlotte's bedroom, attempting to appear as though they had been there all the while, and not snooping at the top of the stairs.

While Sukey carefully filled the last trunk, packing everything methodically to maximize available space, Charlotte came around to sit on the desk chair and speak with her.

"What do you think is happening down there?" Charlotte asked.

Sukey shook her head "This hour? I can't imagine," she said.

The ticking of the little white clock on the mantle seemed deafening in the uncertainty of the silence. Charlotte knew that she would be called down to see her aunt Catharine, if only to confirm and finalize plans for the morning's trip to York City. She was relatively certain that she would find out what the nature and purpose of the visit had been at that point, but until then her concern would remain unabated.

In the three weeks since she had been welcomed into the Culper ring, Charlotte had noticed that her own normally curious and observant approach to sociopolitical interactions around her had transformed into one of acute hyperawareness. Every uncertain situation for which Charlotte hadn't the details had the ability to become a catastrophe in which their entire plot could be unraveled. So soon as she scolded herself for worrying so emphatically, she always reminded herself that it was perhaps that very hyperawareness that would keep her vigilant and safe throughout the war, and make her a more effective agent for Captain Tallmadge. It was of he she was thinking now. It was of he that she was always thinking.

She had placed within the secret cavern of the oak tree a letter of intelligence on some of the comings and goings of British ships and supplies in the Setauket harbor. It had been collected the week before. She naturally did not expect a response. A few days previous, she had placed a simple note, hanging the bell to alert Caleb as usual to the presence of a message, which read only

"_Visiting York City Until December the 8__th.__" _

She had not wanted to arouse concern amongst the rest of the Culpers in case Abraham had not occasion to tell Ben and Caleb that Charlotte would be away from Setauket for nearly three weeks. She had not expected a response to that communication, either. Regardless, she had stolen away after dinner and crunched over a thin, delicate crust of ice on the grass, pausing at the top of the hill to check the dock for signals. She could hear the little ship's bell ringing in the distance as it hung from the end of the wooden post at the end of the neat row of planks, and her heart had quickened knowing a message had been left for her. She had no choice but to return to the house, not wishing to raise suspicion by descending the hill whilst servants bustled around the lighted windows of the house and worked in the light of the open doors to the carriage house, preparing the carriage for the morning's journey. But know she could reveal to Sukey all that she was anticipating.

Sukey looked up at Charlotte from where she was crouched organizing her linens "I know that wasn't what you were going to ask me."

Charlotte's gaze had been fixed on her wringing hands, but she perked up, her eyes shining with intensity, and looked straight at Sukey. "The bell has been hung."

Sukey gave her a stern look. "You got to wait 'till the house is asleep." She said firmly.

Charlotte nodded in understanding. Still, her imagination ran wild at the prospect that she'd have a letter to read, even if it simply contained instructions on how she should make use of her trip. Anything from her handler, or any of the other Culpers, was a welcome arrival. Charlotte could often not contain the guilt she felt as she flitted from tea to soiree on Setauket, whilst brave young men like Ben, Caleb, and her brothers took such great risk. She considered herself a paltry contributor, and it vexed her greatly. But visiting York City would provide mountains of intelligence with which she could return, hopefully still valid by the time she came back. They were to be guests of an old friend of Aunt Catharine, a member of the Peerage called Lady Brightlea. Charlotte's anxiety over playing a very important role over the coming weeks was assuaged by the notion that she had the opportunity to make Captain Tallmadge proud of her if she made proper use of her situation and kept her eyes open and ears pricked.

Sukey glanced over at Charlotte's face and noted the faraway look which had come to characterize what Sukey called Charlotte's "Cap'n Tallmadge face."

A knock at the door called Charlotte to shake off her reverie and rise to open the door. As she met with a lovely, petite young girl her own age, she recognized Katy, one of her aunt's favorite handmaids.

"Miss Charlotte, Miss Catharine would speak with you now." She said, smiling meekly. Charlotte nodded and stepped through the door, nodding to Sukey before turning to follow Katy downstairs.

In her receiving room, Aunt Catharine was scrawling in her elegant hand on a piece of stationary, instructions for the running of the house and grounds in her absence. Catharine would bring two servants; Charlotte would travel with Sukey as she always did. Charlotte followed Katy as she escorted her to the threshold of the small study, quietly announcing

"Miss Charlotte, m'am," before slipping away to return to her last minute tasks.

Soon, the house would be preparing for bed. Catharine finished writing her line of text before she looked up and smiled at her great niece. "Come, Charlotte," she said, patting the settee beside her desk chair.

Charlotte dutifully sat, discreetly moving her panniers under her over robe and petticoats so she could sit comfortably.

Aunt Catharine turned her attention fully to her niece.

"Tomorrow morning, we will cross Oyster Bay, take the Brookland Ferry, and be in York City by late afternoon. Lady Brightlea has a…" she sighed gently, with a slight shake of her head "completely filled social calendar for us both. Poor old girl, I think she's intending to parade you around to all the officers, and she's aware of your musical talents, so I did want to make you aware."

Charlotte had been told in previous conversations about their hostess that while Lady Brightlea and her now deceased husband, Lord Brightlea, had two boys of whom they were immensely proud, Lady Brightlea had always longed for a daughter of her own. Charlotte was prepared to be interrogated and fussed over.

"Are they aware of the affiliations of…my siblings?" Charlotte asked.

Aunt Catharine nodded. "It won't be discussed, at least, as far as she's able to control." She said.

Charlotte nodded, terribly grateful for this fact. She hated feigning disappointment in her brothers. It brought her tremendous guilt and shame, even in pretense, even though they had told her to do so to save her own skin.

"Thank you," she said quietly, glancing demurely down at the lovely blue and white patterns of her topmost petticoat.

In a rare show of physical affection, Catharine reached out to the arm of the settee and gently patted Charlotte's hand. Charlotte raised her eyes to smile at her. Sukey often reminded Charlotte that Catharine was no fool. It was in moments such as these when Charlotte was convinced that Catharine was aware that they were both players on the same team. Illusion as survival, two costumed ladies delivering lines.

Charlotte changed the subject "There was a rider who arrived earlier."

Catharine stifled a small groan. "A courtesy from Major Hewlett. Your Uncle,"

she always referred to Richard in this way when she was dissatisfied with his behavior "had a visit from some incensed residents, at his home, not half an hour ago. Very upset that he's considering utilizing gravestones from the churchyard for fortification of the church, as I imagine they would be. Hewlett wanted to be certain I was aware of the hostility levied upon Richard, though he doubts I will have encouraged similar wrath, being entirely removed from that situation." The way aunt Catharine emphasized the word 'that,' as though specifying something for which she harbored particular disdain, suggested to Charlotte that there was disagreement between the two elder Woodhulls on a subject Charlotte wasn't entirely privy to. She also had the indication that the situation was not entirely public relations related, and could be an issue of internal affairs, as they were.

Charlotte was dismissed with final instructions for the morning's departure, hurrying up the stairs to rejoin Sukey in her bedroom, and share the information she had gathered with her.

"Headstones?" Sukey had asked, casting a disdainful glance to no one in particular, peppered with disbelief.

Charlotte nodded "the situation is very grave." She stifled a grin.

Sukey shook her head, tossing a nightgown at Charlotte. "For tonight." She said.

The final trunks sealed and prepared for the morning, Sukey helped Charlotte to disrobe, buttoning her into a long, elegant silk dressing gown over her warm winter nightgown. As she stood behind the dressing screen, moving like a puppet as Sukey manipulated her limbs to get her out of certain garments, she remembered Sukey would have three weeks away from her mother. She vowed to be especially kind to her over the next few weeks.

Tucked into her bed, lulled by the popping and crackling lullaby of the settling fire, Charlotte read _Candide_ impatiently by light of the candle on her nightstand as she waited for Sukey's return. She had gone to her modest room in the servant's quarters to finalize her own packing, promising to return when Charlotte could safely go to the water's edge. Sukey herself had placed two of Charlotte's three pieces of correspondence thus far, but had quickly learned that trips to the oak tree were a kind of private thrill for Charlotte, and had decided not to deny her. From the servants' quarters, Sukey could accurately assess the level of activity in the house, and would wait until a hush had fallen and all the lights had gone out before escorting Charlotte outside.

Three knocks on the door saw Charlotte casting her book aside and flinging the covers off of herself, hopping down to the floor and snatching her dressing gown from the bench at the end of the bed, swinging it around and over her shoulders. Arms through the sleeves, she neglected to fasten the gown, choosing instead to hurry to Sukey. She flung the door open with more of a flourish than she had intended, and Sukey's raised eyebrows suggested her excitement, while unabatable, could at least be a bit better concealed. Sukey shook her head, dressed in her own nightgown and dressing gown, and entered the room, automatically fastening the hooks which would hold the ornate silk garment closed. As they stood by the door, Charlotte slipped her feet into her slippers and waited patiently. Satisfied, Sukey gestured out the door and the two slinked along the hall to the servants' staircase. Sneaking through the prep kitchen and out into the hallway, Charlotte scrunched up her mouth as she carefully creaked open the door to the porch. Waiting as she had before, Sukey hid in the shadows against the brick wall at the back of the house, perching on the railing.

Charlotte gave her an enthusiastic grin, stepping methodically down the slightly icy steps and around the side of the house, hurrying towards the oak tree. Before going to the tree, delaying her satisfaction, Charlotte carefully navigated the hill and stepped down onto the planks of the dock, walking to the very end where she crouched and lifted the bell on it's strong rope, carefully moving it back to the heavy wooden box it remained in when not serving as a signal. Turning back towards the house, she saw nothing amiss, and she paused for a moment, looking back on Long Island Sound once more as the reflections of moonlight fluttered distorted on the sea. Her hair loose and whipping about her face in the ocean breeze, she looked across to the shores of Connecticut and wondered where her Captain might be. She turned back, knowing she should hurry, if only not to worry Sukey, and carefully navigated the hill back up to the oak tree. Finding her footing in a bit of slush amongst the roots, her slippers, though intended for walking, growing slightly wet and cold, she reached up into the tree, moving aside sticks and dried leaves until she could feel the folded, intentional corners of a letter. Carefully pulling it free, she tucked it inside her dressing gown and carefully bunched her garments in her hands, so as not to trip, hurrying quickly up the hill to meet Sukey.

Safely tucked away in bed, under a mass of down comforters, with most of the curtains closed around her canopy, save for the one directly beside her bed, that the light from the candle might illuminate the letter, Charlotte held it carefully in her hands. Addressed to no one, it could be intended for none other. She turned it over gently and noted the seal, a simple drop of wax into which someone had gently carved a single star. Charlotte's heart leapt. Breaking the red wax disc gently, she unfolded the page, her eyes skimming over the thin, elegant letters of the slightly slanted handwriting.

_Our Most Valued Correspondent,_

_It was with apprehensive anticipation that we learned of your forthcoming journey to such an advantageous port. It is our sincere hope that uncompromised safety and genuine comfort will be afforded you whilst you are away. _

_I implore you to remember the gravity and danger of your situation. Your bravery and dedication are lost on none, but I beg you remember that above all missions I could require, that of your preservation is paramount._

_At great risk in entering into such detail, I must tell you I am terribly grateful for the garment which you have entrusted to my care. You cannot know how great a comfort it has been to me. _

_I realize our uncommonly treacherous circumstances may emboldened me in writing these words I now put to paper, but I wish to inform you that your brilliant map is constantly on my person, and your correspondence I have kept always in my waistcoat, where it has remained a source of constant reference and pleasure to me. Please be assured, you have my trust, my admiration, and my devotion. _

_If you will permit me to unburden myself further, I must tell you I could hardly bear the notion that you depart for an island rife with enemies knowing not how dear you are to me. And you are, fresh as our acquaintance may be, profoundly dear to me. _

_With Greatest Affection,_

_Your Dedicated Handler_

With a dreamy sigh and an excited wiggle of her feet, Charlotte slid down from where she had been propped up against her pillows, fidgeting excitedly under her covers, holding the letter to her chest gently. She read it over as many times as she could manage before she began to yawn. Her journey the following day would be long. Turning on her side, she adjusted her pillows so she might sleep, and blew out the candle beside her bed. She placed the letter seal up beside her on the bed, beneath the covers, running her index finger over the wax star as she closed her eyes. Biting her bottom lip before settling down for the night, Charlotte smiled for the hundredth time since retrieving her letter, and whispered softly "Captain."


	10. Chapter 10

Charlotte peeked out of her bedroom window, noting that Aunt Catharine's ornately decorated carriage had been brought around in the driveway. She looked over at Sukey, who was fastening her own taupe woolen cape over her dress. Charlotte turned about, giving one last glance around the bedroom to be sure she hadn't forgotten anything. Looking once more in the mirror, she glanced at her charcoal grey traveling habit to be sure everything was in place. She checked the cuffs of the elegant, high necked jacket of velveteen with inverted box pleated skirt, shorter than, yet in emulation of the typically long over robes of her robes Anglaises et Francaises. The skirt beneath naturally matched, and was cut to walking length. Sukey had pinned in place a charming little black tricorne hat, smaller than that a gentleman might wear, made to sit charmingly above the updo of curls Sukey had arranged at the back of Charlotte's head. She turned back to Sukey, smiling at her. Over Sukey's left arm was draped Charlotte's black capelet, should she become cold despite her warm habit, and a black fox fur collar she could drape around her neck and shoulders atop it. Fixing the stark white lace fichu at her neck where it protruded above the last few buttons and black braided trim of her jacket, Charlotte turned and set to her last task, putting on her matching black gloves, before nodding to Sukey that she was ready to depart.

As Charlotte descended the stairs, parting ways with Sukey when she left to take her own staircase, she noticed the servants of the house had lined the great hallway leading to the front doors as was customary when the residents of the house were departing for an extended amount of time. At the end of the line closest to the stair was Sadie, who Charlotte smiled at and embraced without second thought, squeezing her gently as the older woman put her strong arms around Charlotte and hugged in return, patting her back gently.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Charlotte. Safe journey," she said quietly.

Charlotte pulled away and held Sadie's hands in hers, memorizing her face for a moment.

"Goodbye, Sadie. Merry Christmas. We'll see you in three weeks."

As she made her way out the front door, Charlotte made eye contact with and nodded to the rest of the servants.

"Merry Christmas, Everyone!" she called from the threshold, receiving appreciative nods in return.

As Sukey said goodbye to her mother, she cradled her extra tight, and nearly blanched when her mother almost slipped but seemed to catch her mistake as she spoke, saying

"You mind your s-elf now."

"I will, mama," was all Sukey said. "Merry Christmas."

When Sukey joined Charlotte, who had waited to descend the front steps until she could be accompanied, Sukey noticed slight disappointment on her face. Walking a respectful distance behind Charlotte, she could yet hear her charge mutter "I suppose we're not riding together," and it was then Sukey noticed a second carriage parked behind the first. It was not ordinary for servants, especially those like Sukey in the role of slave, to ride in the carriage of their mistresses, but it was something for which Charlotte was frequently forgiven when traveling by herself. Now in the company of her aunt, she supposed that was not possible. Aunt Catharine's own servants were already seated in the second carriage, and so when her black Louis heels met the driveway, Charlotte again parted ways with Sukey, who joined the other two ladies.

Charlotte knew Sukey would have much to tell her upon their unpacking that evening. Over the many journeys Charlotte had taken throughout her lifetime, she had become aware of the amount of useful information that could be obtained in the process of conversations occurring servant to servant. In a busy, bustling house like Aunt Catharine's, there had been little time since their arrival for Sukey, Sadie and the other servants to speak with one another candidly, and Charlotte knew this ride to York City would provide ample opportunity for Sukey to obtain valuable household information. Information which she supposed could only help and not hinder their efforts in the Culper ring. She thought of her letter from her handler, which Sukey had discovered upon waking Charlotte in the morning, and had intelligently thought of hiding inside one of a pair of pockets she wasn't brining with her to York City. Folded into a tiny square, tucked in the very bottom of a large pocket, and buried deep inside the tall boy dresser in her bedroom, in a covert compartment, the likelihood of it being discovered was in fact not likely at all. Reading it before bed had committed some of his sentiments to memory, memories she'd conjure late at night in the darkness of her York City bedroom.

As she crunched across the fine gravel of the drive, Charlotte was greeted by a footman with a kind "Good Morning," an open door, and a gentle hand with which to steady herself as she placed her toes on the footplate and stepped up into the carriage. Moving about until she was comfortable, she noticed several warmers about the floor, and the relative warmth of the carriage itself. She stifled a laugh to herself as a sentiment of her brother Edward's regarding how cold the elderly always seemed to be resurfaced in her mind. He had not put it delicately, and Charlotte had to purse her lips to keep from laughing aloud. A sudden, dull throb had filled her chest then, a heavy weight that came on suddenly and seemed to shorten her breath. She missed them all, terribly.

When Aunt Catharine arrived ready to depart, she was ushered into the carriage with the usual amount of ceremony that accompanied her movements to and fro. As the carriage rolled away, Aunt Catharine chattered good naturedly about Lady Brightlea and her household, certain individuals of note who they were likely to encounter, and the more anticipated goings on in York City for the holiday social season. Charlotte attempted to keep the craning of her neck discreet as she sought a few last longing glances at the dock and the oak tree, her heart sinking as she thought on just how long she'd be away. She hoped her fellow Culpers wouldn't think better of asking her to help in the time she was gone. Keeping the conversation as politely as possible despite her distraction and relative disinterest, Charlotte was relieved when Aunt Catharine announced her intention to nap until their arrival at the Brookland Ferry. She was left then to her thoughts. Her brothers knew nothing of her movements. The thought frightened her. Then she turned her head to gaze out between the drawn back privacy curtains at the frigid winter ocean passing by the carriage window, and smiled to herself, thinking at least two members of the Continental Army knew of her whereabouts, which certainly must be better than no one knowing at all.

The Brookland Ferry, a frequent travel resource of Aunt Catharine's, brought both carriages over the Hudson River by late afternoon, and as the sun was setting over York City, Charlotte watched from the window as candles and lamps were lighted in the windows of homes and businesses and in the streets, casting a strange glow over the chilly little city as the carriage rumbled past. When at last they stopped at a large white home, aglow with candles and bedecked with ribbons, garlands and Christmas accoutrements, Catharine had straightened herself in preparation to disembark. It was then that a portly, jovial woman, accompanied by a bevy of servants who fluttered about her like hummingbirds about a large flower, appeared in the glow of the front door and hustled out in procession to welcome the lady's guests.

"Ohhh Caaathariiiinnne…" came the happy, lyric intonations of Lady Brightlea's voice. "Welcome!" She called from the top of the stairs, waiving in the general direction of the carriage windows.

Aunt Catharine sighed, shaking her head and chuckling to herself as one who truly loves a truly eccentric friend might, and looked up at Charlotte.

"Our hostess," she smiled. "Are you ready?"

Charlotte grinned. "Always."


	11. Chapter 11

Virginia, 1767

Nero felt the gentle tug of his master's hand through the snaffle in his mouth, and he collected his canter to the best of his ability. Hooves kicking a cloud of red dust, he trained his eyes on the driveway outside the large white and brick house, where Samuel would be waiting to care for him once his master dismounted. Kindly, he would speak to the horse as he untacked him and poured over his back cool water from the river, taking him for a walk in the shade to cool him down, allowing him water each time they passed by his freshly drawn bucket. Samuel would already be waiting there, though the Bostonian and his warmblood were still several hundred yards from the drive. As Sadie cast her glance upwards and peered through the windowpanes mounted in the French doors at the front of the bedroom, she could see man and horse on the approach. Carefully, she laid out the gown she was folding and went to find her mistress, hurrying quietly along the wide upstairs hall until she reached the back porch. Stepping out onto the deck of the upper porch where the young blonde was sitting, huddled in the shade of both the porch roof and the shade cast by the enormous live oak beside the house, she cleared her throat gently. A bright eyed, cherubic face peeked up from the book in her hands and gave Sadie full attention. Sadie was constantly surprised after five children how the woman still looked like one herself. Always cheerful, with ever a smile on her unlined face.

"Miss Lavinia," Sadie said. "Mister August on the approach."

Lavinia beamed, her dimples revealed, appearing on both cheeks. In a flutter of silk and cotton, she turned to place her book on her chair, and followed behind Sadie, who returned to the bedroom to fold while Lavinia quickly padded down the stairs in her slippers.

August Adams spoke gently to his horse, easing him down to a working walk as they made their way towards Sam. Stopping beside the middle-aged man, who acted as his master of horse, August nodded to him, calling jovially

"Afternoon, Sam!"

"Afternoon, Sir," the man replied. He took Nero's reins as August swung effortlessly down from his saddle, giving the coal black horse a hearty pat on the neck and scratching his forelock before moving around him and energetically ascending the stark white stairs leading up to his verandah. As he looked up, he realized his pretty young wife had appeared in the doorway of their home, her hands folded demurely before her, a bright, welcoming smile on her face.

"Lavinia," he said, removing his tricorne hat and bowing to her. She laughed and closed the gap between them, wrapping her arms about his neck and planting a kiss on his cheek, which he returned with a strong embrace about her waist and a demure kiss on her lips.

"How was Richmond?" She asked, conversing with him pleasantly as they walked from the front of their house through the wide, open hallway out through the back, onto the westerly facing back porch.

August made a dissatisfied sound "These Townshend Duties, Nee, I fear they're a harbinger for the beginning of the end."

"The end?" She asked.

"Of our patience." He said. He ran his hand through his dark copper hair, an action which often accompanied his stress.

"I may go to Boston, soon. When Teddy returns to school, and Nathaniel matriculates, I'll accompany them. There is much to discuss, and my friends there are eager to explore…."

Lavinia held up a finger. "You seem agitated just speaking of it. When the time comes, I'm sure you'll tell me what you've decided on." She knew her August to be a man easily stirred by emotion and sense of justice, and preferred to allow him to enjoy his time at home instead of stirring up echos of arguments he undoubtedly had with the other affluent gentlemen of influence he had met with in Richmond. She followed him as he descended the back porch steps and began to walk down the grassy hill towards the yard separating the house from the barn and fields. August sighed as though he had only just now noticed something was missing.

"And where, might I ask, are my children?"

Lavinia smiled. "They've taken out the horses." She furrowed her brow "Though they have been gone since early afternoon…" she looked across the sky, noting the lateness of the hour. Across the fields, quitting time would soon be announced, and the pleasant smells of dinner could already be detected from their kitchen house and the slave quarters. Suddenly, she noticed August's ears seem to perk. He held up his hand.

"What is it?" She asked.

"The earth….is moving." He said, a smile laced with pride and satisfaction on his face. She listened, keeping quite still, and felt a gentle rumble in the ground beneath her feet. August walked around to the side of the estate, towards the small, shallow valley in which the river beside the house ran, waiting to see from which direction they would come. The house, it's drive trimmed with live oaks, had small wooded pockets beside it, which gave way to the open fields at the back of the home. But the forest that had been left in tact was a fabulous place to ride. The first horse to emerge had William aboard, August's eldest son and the blood bay gelding he'd raised from a colt bursting at a lively gallop into the open field. Teddy and Valens, his black gelding with four startlingly white socks and an impressive white blaze, kept even pace with his elder brother. Following close behind, a wildly weaving trio could be seen. A sooty bay carried his son Edward, while Nathaniel rode a dapple gray. And his daughter, Charlotte, on her seventeen hand high copper chestnut warmblood. For the brightness of his coat, Powhatan ought to have had a flaxen mane. But his color was uniform, but for his white back socks and neat white blaze. He saw a flurry of rose colored silk robe and white floral patterned petticoat, heard the ringing bells of her airy laugh across the yard as she daringly scooted in front of her brothers, and pulled ahead towards William, who had descended the embankment and was charging across the river in a shallow place strategically chosen for their crossing. In a flurry of hoots and laughter and a halo of spray, August's five children splashed through the cool water, cantering up the embankment, slowing as they came to greet their father. Charlotte, red faced, with budding freckles, which could have only come from her day's exposure to the sun, smiled bashfully, with a hint of remorse and guilt. Her bergere hat hung loose and useless from her neck by the ribbon that had once held it close to her head, her hair half undone. The pins that had held it in place were carefully tucked inside the hem of her sleeve where they would pinch neither she nor Powhatan, but where Sukey could easily retrieve them. She prayed she could dismount before her mother noticed she was riding straddle. In the commotion of her brothers' greetings for her father, she hopped carefully down at patted Powhatan's neck as she moved about him, running up her stirrups and loosening his girth.

When at last August came to her, brothers filing off towards the barn, she embraced him tightly, saying "Welcome home, father." When he pulled back to examine his daughter, who he hadn't seen in three weeks, he smiled.

"You kept up." He said firmly.

She nodded, attempting to remain stoic like her brothers and not gush at his compliment. August's face broke open in a wide grin, infectious, which Charlotte returned in kind.

"Go on," he said, gently touching her arm to usher them both off to where she could cool her horse out. Going to join his wife, he put his arm around her waist and watched his children make their way to where they stabled the horses.

"Each of you care for his own horse," he called. "Sam is busy enough!"

A chorus of assent was returned by each of his offspring. Watching them go, he saw his daughter turn and cast him a warm smile, her eyes shining. He smiled at her in return, compelled to say nothing, needing to say nothing. The pride with which he watched them grow had always been enough.

New York, December 1776

Laying on her side, squishing the the rag curls that were settling in her hair against her pillow, Charlotte sighed. While the comfort of the bed in her Christmas quarters at Lady Brightlea's York City home was undeniable, Charlotte yet felt unable to relax. Never had she missed her home so much. Always she missed her father and mother. But so very keenly did she feel their loss now. In a distant city, in the belly of the enemy, near nary a place that would ever be her home, she felt an acute despair. Wound around the fingers of her left hand was the chain of a necklace of gold and glass in which were held the baby curls of all five of Lavinia's children. Her mother had left it home with them when they had boarded the boat for Bermuda. And now Charlotte held it for comfort, tangible evidence of her mother's love for she and her brothers. Alone and afraid, nearly buckling under the weight of her fear and the pressure to perform her duty, she wept. In Virginia, she'd have padded barefoot to Sukey's bedroom, sought her comfort in the woman who knew her best. Here, she dwelled in feigned ambivalence and protected, cowardly neutrality, numbed by the importance of her task and the gravity of her situation. In the morning, she would be strong. When the sun rose, and Sukey shook out her curls she'd dress herself for battle and lock a kind of armor around her heart. But here, in the dark, huddled under silken bed sheets in the grand upstairs room of a magnificent house, outside which the flag of England flew, she allowed herself to feel, and to grieve.


	12. Chapter 12

Charlotte rolled the library ladder across the floor on the track, scanning her eyes along the stacks to be sure she was stopping it in the correct place. So soon as she had a tour of the house, she had regretted bringing along her own books from Catharine's house. She wouldn't have need of them. She had been shown to the library and invited to avail herself of the collection therein. The tremendous quantity of volumes was nothing short of overwhelming. Charlotte climbed carefully until she was level with the fifth shelf and reached out to pull a large, illustrated volume from its place. _A Catalouge of Known Mammals_, declared the cover. Clutching it to her chest, she descended, backing down the ladder carefully until she reached the floor, where she found herself a place to sit on a settee. Leafing carefully through the volume, not yet stopping to read, simply perusing the remarkable illustrations, she waited for Sukey. She would read when she had time to sit uninterrupted, but for now she sat in her light blue winter walking habit, attempting not to grow antsy.

Sukey had volunteered herself into the serving rotation, a successful way to integrate oneself as the servant of a guest in the household, and guarantee amicability between herself and the rest of the servants at Lady Brightlea's home. It was a house with plenty of servants to accomplish the various tasks of each day, so Sukey would remain at Charlotte's disposal the majority of the time. Now, however, Sukey was helping to finish clearing up after breakfast, and would return to the bedroom she shared with a few other female servants to retrieve her cloak and accompany Charlotte on her errand of Christmas shopping. Sukey had attempted to assuage Charlotte's concerns that all the best Christmas presents would have been purchased by the time she reached the shops, but anxious as Charlotte generally was, it had done little to settle her nerves. To save time, Charlotte had changed herself from her morning dress into her walking habit following the repast, and was rather pleased with herself in her efficiency. Another little tricorne hat had been affixed to the hairstyle Sukey had arranged atop her head, with cascading curls falling about her shoulders, and her gloves sat beside her on the settee.

Charlotte looked up, smiling, as Sukey appeared, dressed comfortably for the weather in a simple warm woolen robe anglaise, and her brown woolen cape. She held Charlotte's woolen navy blue calf length cape in her arms, as well as the red fox wrap (comprised of several foxes) that would go over the shoulders of the cape and fasten across her collarbones with a chain. Charlotte rose and returned the book to its place, memorizing its location so she might return to it later, and stepped out into the hall where she allowed Sukey to outfit her with the warm garments she had brought, knowing Charlotte would attempt to leave for the morning with only her walking habit to keep her warm. It was then, as Sukey was adjusting Charlotte's cape and fur to be certain they sat the way she wanted them to, that a young man of around twelve appeared at the threshold of the prep kitchen at the end of the hall. Wringing his knitted cap in his fingers, he approached quietly, sneaking up with an almost guilty look on his face, knowing little of women's mysterious preparations, hoping not to interrupt an important ritual.

"Miss Charlotte?" Came the small, almost apologetic, yet surprisingly deep and horse voice of the boy.

Charlotte turned her head as far as she was able and smiled a wide grin at him, hoping to put him at ease. "Yes?"  
"I'm Jonathan Nesbitt. Lady Brightlea says I'm to accompany you on your shopping trip and be at your assistance. And I'm to help you carry packages." The young man looked down at his feet, shifting them slightly, wringing the cap again.

"Well, Mr. Nesbitt," Charlotte said, reaching into her cape and patting her topmost petticoat to check the contents of her tied on pockets for the money and personal effects stored there, righting her garments when she was satisfied. "We shall be most happy to have you in our little party." She smiled again, and saw the boy's face drop the tension held there, replaced by relief and a shy, grateful smile. Charlotte nodded to Sukey.

"This is Miss Sukey, and she will be joining us. She is with me always."

Charlotte beckoned to him, and he walked towards her, following she and Sukey as they made their way to the front door. He and Sukey exchanged polite nods and brief smiles.

"I trust you might also know _where_ the shopping might take place in this city, as well?" Charlotte made a slightly bashful face at the prospect of having admit to a child that her original plan had simply been to politely inquire with women of her own station who she might pass, and find her own way. Of course, to an extent, she had also assumed that Lady Brightlea might send along someone to be her guide to the city, given that she had already accounted for anything and everything else her guests might have need of in the short time they had been there. She had been told that the finest shopping was within walking distance, and had expressed her interest in exploring the city on foot in places where it was safe to do so.

The young man straightened, nodding. He had been given specific instructions to take Charlotte to the city's best luxury shops, those preferred by Lady Brightlea, and to avoid the area known as Holy Ground at all costs. "I will lead you there myself, miss."

The charming little band made their way through the streets of York City, bundled against the late morning chill. Charlotte had done a great deal of thinking about how she would approach her social situation throughout the Christmas season. Major Hewlett certainly wasn't anyone she was immediately concerned about, enamored as he was of Catharine and her maternal charm, and overwhelmingly harmless on his own. From Sukey Charlotte had learned that it was Major Hewlett who had protected Catharine from the potentially unpleasant and awkward situation of having soldiers quartered with her. Despite the enormity of the house and relative emptiness of its many bedchambers, Hewlett had decided that an unmarried, elderly woman living alone should not be subjected to the intrusion of occasionally boisterous young men, and had taken her off the list of mandated hosts. Charlotte appreciated his concern for Catharine's welfare, all the more now that she had become involved in the Culper ring and was herself able to benefit from the privacy she could enjoy without soldiers traipsing about. Hewlett was someone she was confident she could successfully charm in the same way she had her Uncle Richard over the years. She was aware that the other officers she would meet, however, were critical of Hewlett and his rather more provincial methods and locale, calling him "The Oyster Major," a moniker she was certain he was probably aware of. She would now be dealt a hand by far more skilled players, and realized she must prepare herself for such. With that in mind, and the knowledge that she would certainly be encountering intelligence agents in particular, and particularly during this, the Christmas season, when many ranked officers in the Crown's armed forces made their way to York City for a bit of repose and celebration, Charlotte had decided not to lie. Considering the fact that she had long ago been correctly branded a terrible liar by her brothers, and the very real possibility that should she attempt to fabricate stories that were actually believed, they might become somehow crossed or confused, and she faced a greater risk of upsetting her cover. Thus, Charlotte resolved to speak true statements wherever she was able, should anyone inquire after her political leanings or thoughts on the war given her familial connections. She would express her intense desire for the conflict to come to a conclusion, and omit "with the unconditional surrender to General Washington." She would express her great affinity for her home and her family, coupled with her fervent wish that they remain unharmed throughout the conflict, and omit the fact that her brothers' sentiments were ones she shared. In this way, she hoped to maintain her safety and maximize her efficacy for the Culper ring.

The sun, as it rose higher, served to warm them a bit, and they arrived at the shops before the bitter cold of the ocean breeze had the chance to overwhelm them. With a slight pang of guilt, Charlotte purchased fine goods that had quite obviously come from England, or had been provided by English merchant ships, hoping it would look favorably upon her amongst those who would care, knowing word of a new, relatively unknown shopper purchasing large quantities of Christmas gifts would circulate at least amongst certain parties. Charlotte also wished to be finished with her shopping on that very day, so that should she return to the marketplace, or to the shops, it would be without worry over pressure to purchase gifts. When she had finished her shopping for everyone else, Charlotte asked that Sukey and Jonathan make themselves scarce, Charlotte herself in the hands of the very doting shopkeeper, whilst the other two would keep one another company in the warm sunshine of the early afternoon. Charlotte would be brief. She had already decided what she wanted for Sukey, having seen the items (and Sukey admiring them) but deciding to keep them secret, and she traveled around the shop asking the shopkeeper to wrap them for her. For young Mr. Nesbitt, Charlotte purchased a package of sweets, which she would give him in a gesture of thanks for his assistance.

When Charlotte had finished and the group was on its way, both Sukey and Jonathan, as well as one of the shopkeeper's sons, and Charlotte herself, had boxes piled from their arms to their chins, making their way along the half frozen muddy streets of York City. Charlotte judged that the young men had been given the lion's share, as was typical, and she turned her head around the smaller boxes in her arms to peek at Sukey and ask, giggling

"Can you _see_?"

Sukey laughed. "Yes." She moved closer to Charlotte so she could speak candidly.

"I can see where I'm goin', I just can't see what I'm steppin' on," she continued, as she maneuvered around a grouping of cobblestones that had become uneven.

Charlotte pursed her lips to keep from laughing out loud, muttering in the other's ear

"In a British city, I'd be more concerned about what we're stepping_ in_."

Sukey raised her eyebrows in warning, the lines around her mouth tightening, but her eyes were laughing. Charlotte glanced behind them, noticed that the boys were hanging back at a respectful distance, and was satisfied they had heard nothing.

John Andre allowed himself a self-indulgent dejected sigh as his receiving room door closed, the last of his morning appointments concluded. His tea had gone cold, and he bemoaned his lack of competent servants. Gathering the few documents he had referenced in the course of his discussion with the young captain who had just departed, he placed them back in one of his many leather folios and rose to stretch his legs and gaze out the window towards the sea. As he stared out in the direction of the water from his vantage point on the second floor, he happened to notice an interesting little troupe picking their way through the half frozen muddy street below. He recognized young Martin, the shopkeeper's son, though he knew him not by name but by sight. He occasionally delivered luxury provisions the short distance to the Major's commandeered home. Beside him, Jonathan, a young man he was quite familiar with as Lady Brightlea's errand boy. What first caught John Andre's attention was the impeccable dress of the woman he thought must be the other's slave or servant. It was rare enough to see an individual of such status in such apparently intimate consort with her mistress, but the fine composition and seemingly expert tailoring of her garments caused Andre to pause. It was not that she dressed above her station, simply that she seemed unusually well outfitted for one of her status. Charlotte's face was obscured both by her packages and in the way she inclined her head to the right to speak to Sukey. And then, as Jonathan indicated with a sharp jerk of his head (hands completely encumbered by all of the boxes therein) that they should cross the street, she turned in his direction, and John Andre's gaze fell upon one of the loveliest faces he'd had opportunity to behold, in the Colonies or elsewhere. None of her party could have seen him standing at the window, for the way the sun was shining into the glass paned window, but before she disappeared onto the path below, to turn the corner and head in the direction of Lady Brightlea's nearby home, Andre watched her expressions as they played across her pretty face, the way she walked, the shining copper auburn of her hair, and the awkward way she seemed to be trying to navigate her steps with such a plethora of boxes in his arms. He allowed himself a soft chuckle and a gentle, closed lipped smile, and reluctantly turned to leave the room.


	13. Chapter 13

Charlotte shuddered delightedly as the pleasant chill of a bracing evening breeze whipped around her. She had waited an inordinate amount of time in the front hallway, stuffed into a deep turquoise robe francaise and sweating under the burden of her black wool cape and the mass of black mink capelet draped over it. She had been thankful for the powder and perfume Sukey had garnished her with before dressing her.

Taking the offered hand of the footman whose other held open the carriage door for her, she stepped up onto the footplate of Lady Brightlea's carriage and ducked her head inside, shuffling herself across the silk cushion in the tremendous bulk of her evening finery, over to the opposite side of the rig. She tapped absentmindedly with her ivory silk glove at the hair ornament that Sukey had pinned up above her left ear to accent her upswept hair. It would be just like Charlotte to have knocked it astray and not notice. She scrunched herself against the far window, gazing out through the pane of glass. In the glow of the lanterns on either side of the carriage windows, a few scattered flakes of snow had just begun to fall lackadaisically to the ground. A small caged heater filled with glowing coals sat in the middle of the carriage, and as they entered the carriage the two older women, Catharine and Lady Brightlea, gingerly settled themselves in around it for the short trip to their evening social engagement.

When the doors were secure, the gentle jolt of the carriage as the wheels began to turn briefed the ladies to the fact that they were on their way.

"This is the first of the _official_ Christmas parties,"

Lady Brightlea said, leaning into Charlotte, giddy with excitement.

Charlotte had found that in the three days they had spent with her, despite the woman's affiliations, she genuinely enjoyed Lady Brightlea's bubbly, warm disposition. But she could not forget that the woman beside her was not only the mother of two highly ranked redcoat sons of her own, stationed further south, but was also a significant contributor to the cause of maintaining the colony as just that, whatever the cost. It was in her interests to guard against everything Charlotte was fervently hoping would come to pass. And Charlotte, so very entangled, despite a bit of smug pride in the knowledge that she was gathering valuable information directly under the nose of so powerful and influential a member of the peerage, yet found herself feeling slight pangs of guilt in moments when she was reminded of the woman's hospitality and kindness towards her.

Charlotte smiled at Lady Brightlea, attempting to muster as much enthusiasm as she could summon.

"…but this will be a quieter affair," Lady Brightlea continued, and Charlotte was relieved that she hadn't been expected to reply.

"No dancing tonight, just dinner. New Year's and Epiphany are the true height of the season, in the coming weeks."

Charlotte resisted the urge to sigh, having been reminded of the fact that it was only December twenty first. She wouldn't return to Setauket until at earliest the eighth of January.

Had Charlotte been seated on the opposite cushion beside her Great Aunt Catharine, she would have noted the glow emanating from an open door up ahead as guests were ushered inside, and the lanterns placed on the steps leading up to the gaily-lit front entrance of the stately home. As it was, she noticed they had slowed considerably, and were being maneuvered into place against the curb, presumably behind several carriages also halting to disembark dinner guests.

When their turn to descend had arisen, Charlotte waited until the two older women had exited the carriage, and then rose herself, one gloved hand taking that which was once again offered by the footman, the other pressing her gloved palm against the ruffled pattern of silk on her stomacher. She gazed up at the house before her, as light flakes of snow cycloned around her in a gust of wind, glowing candles flickering in each window, garlands mounted to select places on the trim.

For a lone patriot in a sea of red-coated officers and silk clad loyalists, introductions were a whirlwind. Charlotte was paraded around a room filled with York City Brits already at least vaguely familiar with one another, who met her with outward kindness, but, she suspected, at least in the case of some, inward suspicion. Unlike York City and Setauket, which were overwhelmingly Loyalist, and like the Boston her father had hailed from, her home, Virginia, was known to cradle a healthy coven of Patriots. She hoped she wouldn't be immediately recognized as one of them.

In conference with Sukey, Charlotte had admitted knowledge that she could neither continue to uphold this façade nor continue to play in this charade forever. Eventually, by her own action, or as a result of another's discovery of her affiliation, she would be exposed. She only hoped her fine imported silk and relative charm, forced as it was in these situations, might serve to keep the wolves off her scent for as long as was feasibly possible.

Her utlitiy to Captain Tallmadge had become a genuinely motivating notion. When otherwise she may have simply endured these visits with bridled contempt and fluctuating misery, she now felt invigorated by the notion that even without her brothers she could remain connected to and affective for the cause, and in such a potentially important way.

Introductions to both Colonel William Harcourt and Sir Banastre Tarleton, who were both on brief furlough to the city, further solidified Charlotte's confidence that she might yet prove an important member of Captain Tallmadge's spy ring. Here it was, her first official dinner, and already she was encountering officers of influence.

By the sixth course, Charlotte had begun to feel confident that she had survived being interrogated, at least for the evening. Sir Tarleton and Colonel Harcourt commanded much of the attention around the dinner table, for which Charlotte was tremendously grateful. Polite questions posed to her were of a relatively benign nature, and she felt comfortable answering them with confidence, devoid of the anxiety and resulting hostility she often experienced when suspecting another's kindness might be masking a challenge.

As the servants of the household busied themselves clearing the table of dinner service, briefly exposing the stark white tablecloth so crumbs could be scraped away and dessert service laid out, Charlotte discreetly caught the attention of their hostess and asked if she might be briefly excused for a bit of air. She felt it appropriate, given that a few of the gentlemen were stretching their legs in a small sitting room off the dining area, in the lull between servings. She would not be the only person missing from the table. With the lady's blessing, Charlotte rose, causing the rest of the gentlemen still seated at the table to do the same.

"Excuse me," she said quietly, with a nod and a demure smile to the rest of the guests.

She maneuvered around the table to make her way out to the main hallway through which they had arrived. Intending to head in the direction of the front entrance, she happened to glance over and notice through the open swinging door of a prep kitchen down a small hallway that a servants' service entrance lead out to the street. She ducked into this little hallway, darting through the prep kitchen door and hurrying out the propped open exit before anyone could catch sight of her and ask where she was going. Thankfully, she seemed to have snuck through unnoticed.

She emerged to realize she was at the back of the house, standing on a small stone landing with an attached wooden staircase. Stepping down onto a roughly cobblestoned yard enclosed by a brick fence, Charlotte noticed an open gate leading out to the street, and thinking she must be in a relatively safe place, she ducked out around the wrought iron rungs, and hastily made her way down the quiet street. The snow was no longer falling. She hadn't realized how dreadfully hot it had been in the house, with lanterns and candles brightly burning, and a fire roaring in the enormous fireplace. Walking quickly, and with decided awareness of her surroundings lest the judgment of a limited amount of danger, as she had judged it to be in this part of the city, be incorrect, Charlotte made her way in the direction of the sounds of the nearby waterfront. As she walked, she peeled off her gloves, which she tucked discreetly under her top robe into the band of her petticoat. Walking only a short distance, she found herself by a dock. Finding the surrounding area deserted, she took a set of rickety wooden stairs she noticed beside the dock's origins, descending onto the beach below. Careful in her Louis heels not to step into wet sand and cover them in a greyish, muddy paste, Charlotte looked around her once more, out at the water, and hesitantly slipped out of her shoes, pushing against the lip of the stairs so the shoes would drop neatly onto the second step, where she could carefully step into them once more. Had she stepped out of them onto the sand, she'd be lost to find them, or even to bend over and collect them in her cumbersome gown and the dark of the evening, despite the glow of the street lamps in the streets above.

Charlotte hurried to the water's edge, stuffing her hand down underneath her top robe and into the slit of her top petticoat, until she could reach into the little pockets Sukey had tied onto her. She felt around until the little red disk was in her hand. As the tide rushed over her stockinged feet, soaking the immaculate fine silk, Charlotte relished the feeling of the brackish water on her skin, and was glad that her dress was several inches from the ground. She should have been cold, her toes should have been freezing. But she was invigorated, and inspired. She pulled the wax from it's safe place in her pocket, gently running her fingertip over the little carved star she had managed to preserve when she broke the seal apart from it's mount at the back of the letter Benjamin Tallmadge had sent her. The letter had gone into the tall boy, hidden away. The seal Charlotte had kept on her person, a talisman. Her protection, her salvation. As another, larger wave forced a deluge of refreshing, cool water over her feet, she wriggled her toes in the muddy sand through their silken confines, and closed her eyes. She stood there, the winter wind whipping stray curls across her neck and about her face in the darkness, and as she squeezed the little seal in her hand, she whispered "Captain," an incantation she often uttered in the darkness, wondering where he might be, and how long she would have to wait, tortured, until she could see him again.


End file.
